


Golgotha

by rubygirl29



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-26 00:43:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 42,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evan Lorne has no idea how far his friends will go in their efforts to "Leave No Man Behind," emotionally and physically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Promises](https://archiveofourown.org/works/250803) by [bluflamingo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluflamingo/pseuds/bluflamingo). 



> _Title: Golgotha  
>  Author: Rubygirl29  
> Fandome: SGA/SG-1  
> Genre: H/C  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Warnings: Violence, torture, language, emotional and physical trauma  
> Characters: John Sheppard, Cam Mitchell, Evan Lorne, Laura Cadman, Vala Maldoran, Caroyn Lam, Sam Carter and various OCs. _
> 
> **Summary:** Evan Lorne has no idea how far his friends will go in their efforts to "Leave No Man Behind," emotionally and physically.
> 
> Author's Note: The inspiration for this came from the wonderful story "Promises" by bluflamingo set in her _What Happens Next 'Verse_. Alex Sheppard is her OC. A few of the scenes reflect, but are not word for word, from her story. Alex is John's artificially conceived biological child. When the child's mother is taken by the Wraith, John returns to earth with the boy and retires from the Air Force. Thank you, Em, for giving me permission to write Lorne's story.
> 
>  _Golgotha_ deviates quite a bit from the original. I've written this as a genfic, not slash, because I wanted the emphasis to be on Lorne, not on the relationship between John and Cam. It is a story about friendship, healing, hope and love.
> 
> And a HUGE thanks to Black_Raven135 for her beta-reading and invaluable expertise on military protocol and procedure. I couldn't have done this without her help.

**Part One**

The calm of the gateroom is broken by the harsh claxon of the gate erupting into action. "Unauthorized Activation!" Chuck announces with only a hint of panic. "Lieutenant Cadman's IDC."

Richard Wolsey's mind starts off in a hundred different directions, none of them good. "Open the iris. Guard team to the gate." Armed marines aim weapons at the gate as the horison gushes forth and clears. Lieutenant Cadman stumbles in, followed by the other member of the team who had gone to the planet's surface on what should have been an uncomplicated mission. Woolsey counts heads and stops.

"Lieutenant, where is Colonel Lorne?"

Cadman's face is bone-pale and her voice is shaking. "They took him, sir. They stunned all of us, and when I came to, Colonel Lorne ... was ... gone. Sir, we need to go after him," she says, and then realizes that she is committing a major breach of protocol. If possible, she gets even more pale, until the faint shadows beneath her eyes show like bruises. "I'm sorr --"

Woolsey waves it aside. "Lieutenant, take your team to the infirmary and get checked out."

"Sir, with all respect, they _took_ him."

"I am aware of that, Lieutenant." Woolsey is a bit chilly. "Why Colonel Lorne?" he mused, softening a bit when he sees her distress.

"Because he has the gene," Laura says. "It's happened before with the Genii." She sways a bit then corrects. "They aren't the only ones who want ancient technology."

"Go to the infirmary. I'll have a strike force readied to retrieve him."  


 "I want to be on the team, Mr. Woolsey." Despite her pallor, Cadman stands tough. She's a marine, and Richard knows she and Lorne are friends, if not more.

"If Dr. Keller clears you --"

"Thank you, sir." Laura's salute is less snappy than usual, but she goes to the infirmary. Twenty minutes later, she is leading the strike force through the gate.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Lorne comes to consciousness abruptly, like somebody had thrown icy water on his face, and realizes that somebody _has_ thrown icy water on him. He has a headache, his body is buzzing with the familiarity of being stunned, and the cold water only adds insult to injury. "Hey!" He throws his hands up, suddenly aware that they are cuffed, not tightly, but still ... "Hey! I'm one of the good guys, remember?" He shakes the water from his eyes and regrets it when his head throbs. He lays back and waits for his vision to clear.

"I apologize for stunning you, Colonel. It was a necessity."

Evan recognizes the man as the leader of the diplomatic mission that greeted them at the gate. Well, maybe not so diplomatic. The guy has eyes like arctic ice and a face like a hatchet.

"Umm, I'm not following your logic here." He sits up, looks around. "Where's my team?" His heart is beating faster than it should be.

"They have returned to your people. They are safe."

"Prove it."

"Colonel, I am wounded by your lack of trust. We had no use for them, so they were allowed to return to your city."

"Why am I here? Did I defy some local custom or tradition? Am I a hostage?"

"Only in the sense that you posses something we need. The gene of the Ancestors."

 _Crap!_ Another crazy like the Genii. Lorne's head hurts too much for him to think logically. "Why?" He asks, not sure that he wants to know the answer.

"Come with me, Colonel." He motions to his attendant who helps Lorne to his feet. He'd feel better with his hands free, but when he holds them up, the gesture is ignored. _So much for hospitality,_ he thinks as he is guided down a long passage.

The room they enter is large and eerily familiar. Ancient symbols are etched into the walls. Lorne's language skills aren't up to deciphering more than a few of them. The control consoles are similar to those on Atlantis and the faint, hum of Ancient tech is calling to his genes. The attendant gives him a shove towards a doorway. "In there," he says, earning a frown from the leader.

Evan's nerves are throbbing. What lies beyond that door is powerful. He tries to recall anything McKay has said about ancient technologies but when he steps inside the chamber, his brain stops thinking for a moment.

 _A chair. The damn planet has a freakin' weapons chair!_ Lorne files that information away as valuable intel. His second thought is that if they have a chair, they must have a ZPM -- also filed away as intel. "So...?" He acts like he has no idea what they are asking ... and he really doesn't; if they want help fighting the Wraith, Atlantis will help them. Another ally was always welcome. If that is the case, why is he being held hostage?

"We have this chair. You have the genetic material we need to use it."

Lorne shakes his head. "I can't do this without talking to the leader of our expedition."

"Our need is pressing." The man's eyes have gone dangerously icy and Lorne feels a chill down his spine.

"Listen, our scanner showed no Wraith activity in this sector of the galaxy. It won't take long for me to bring in our leadership and our scientists. I can't do this without them."

"Oh ... I think you can." He nods to his enforcer, as Lorne is beginning to think of him. There is a quick movement and what feels like a sap connects at the base of his skull. Lorne goes down on his knees, sick and in pain. He is dragged up, his cuffs released as he is pushed into the chair and his hands placed on the pads.

The chair shudders beneath him, fighting his will to keep it under control. He cries out, pulls his hands away and launches himself off the platform. As he falls, a shock of energy races through him and everything goes dark.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Cadman's team, accompanied by Zelenka, steps through the gate. Nothing has changed, but this time there is no delegation to meet them, just a man working a small plot of land. Cadman and Sergeant Stackhouse approach him. She smiles. She knows she is pretty, and despite the weapons she carries, she can see the man's face light up. "Hello. I am looking for the delegation from your village who greeted us this morning," she begins, but falters when the man's face registers confusion.

"I know of no such delegation," he says. "This morning, I was not here."

"Yes, I know that. But do you know who would have greeted us?"

"The head of our village council, but he could not have greeted you. He was ill this day, as were many of the others on the council. Bad meat and too much wine at their meeting last night." The man gives her a conspiratorial wink.

Cadman shakes her head. "We were greeted by a man. Tall, wearing a gray cloak and a green-stone brooch?"

The man pales. "Cloaks like you describe are not worn by my people, but by the Varashi, our enemies. They are not from this world."

"What do you mean your 'enemies'?" Cadman asks, her lips feeling oddly numb.

"For many years they have raided our settlements, pillaged our villages, kidnapped our children."

Cadman looks at Zelenka and Stackhouse. "Sergeant, you're with me. Dr. Zelenka, can you determine the last address dialed?" When Zelenka starts to tell her that is nearly impossible, she fights back the fears that are making her stomach twist uncomfortably. "Yes, I know Dr. Zelenka, but this is Colonel Lorne, we _owe_ him our best to bring him home safely."

Laura and Stackhouse walk towards the village in silence. Laura _hates_ this. Evan is one of her best friends; they have never been lovers, but they are attuned to each other acutely. She is intensely aware of the passage of time. Each second might as well be the slow drip of Evan's blood. She wonders if she is trembling. If she stops moving, will she fall apart?

She is surprised to find she is rock-steady when she meets T'kai Molas, the head of council. Molas looks like a man who spent the night being ill. His skin is dry, his eyes sunken; but his manner is courteous, and there is concern in his voice.

"We have been at war with the Varashi for centuries. Our ancestors upon ancestors have told tales of great battles. However, my people stopped fighting many years ago. We became simple farmers, not warriors, the battles have become raids on our land. We live with it and pray that someday the Varashi will tire of it as well."

"What were you fighting about?" Stackhouse asks.

"An object of great value."

"Object?"

"It is forbidden to speak of it now. I am afraid no living soul remembers what this object is, or where it was hidden."

"The Varashi are still hunting for this relic?"

"Indeed, they have increased their raids of late. If they do not stop, we will have to start raising an army again to defend our children and our homeland."

T'kai looks so woeful, so sad, that Cadman wants to touch his shoulder in sympathy, but she asks instead, "Are you sure your illness was an accident?"

T'kai gasps, "My people would not betray their heritage."

"Well, somebody did," Cadman says. "One of our people was taken by the Varashi. I need the gate symbols of the Varashi home world. Please ... can you give those to me?"

"If your friend was taken, I pity him. I will give you what I have, but I warn you, the Varashi raiding parties do not confine themselves to one planet. They choose many. I have only a few of those ..."

"Maybe we'll get lucky," Stackhouse says grimly. He nods at T'kai and leaves.

Cadman holds out her hand. "We don't forget acts of friendship or kindness," she says. "If we find our friend, we will be in your debt."

She leaves with a list of ten coordinates that are possibilities. The seconds are still ticking away. When they get back to the gate, she looks at Zelenka and hands him the list. Now her hands are shaking. She doesn't hide it from Radek, who nods in sympathy. Laura thinks he would hug her if she weren't carrying a P-90, but she appreciates the thought.

"Should I start dialing the first address?" Zelenka asks.

"No," Laura decides. "We go back to Atlantis. I want Ronon Dex with us."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Lorne opens his eyes and groans. Every muscle in his body aches, as if he had been contorted painfully for hours. God, they had stunned him good. He starts to sit up and would have tipped over sideways if he hadn't been caught and held by somebody. As he struggles upright on his own, his cellmate skitters away to the far corner.

"Where?" He looks around. He is in a jail cell. Iron bars and cold stone floors. Funny how that worked in every semi-primitive world they visited. He peers at the other man. "How long was I out?"

"Long time." The voice is rusty. "You are hurt?"

Evan moves his arms and legs. "No. just stunned. Apparently, I didn't give the Big Guy the right answer." He stretches cautiously and gets to his feet. He tests the bars. They are unyielding. He sighs. "How long have you been here?"

"I don't know."

"Not the answer I wanted to hear. I'm Evan. You?"

"Aris."

"You don't have to hide in the corner. I don't bite." When Aris doesn't move, Lorne shrugs. "Suit yourself, but we could be here for a while."

"A lifetime," Aris sighs.

"No way. I've got people out there looking for me."

"So I believed once." Aris inches into the vague illumination. As he comes closer, his features looked blurred, almost shapeless. Lorne has seen those scars before, on a pilot shot down in Afghanistan. His burns had happened in a flash, Aris's had layers to them, some old, some barely healed, some still weeping plasma.

"They did this to you?" Lorne asks, horror and pity warring in his chest. "Why?"

Aris laughs softly. "I, too, did not give them the answers they wanted to hear."

Evan swears under his breath. "Who are they?"

"They are called the Varashi, the skull takers. They have been at war with my world for centuries."

"That's a hell of a long time to hold a grudge." He thinks about his service in the Middle East and Afghanistan where the feuds go back so far and the hatred so deep that the origins have been lost. That kind of hatred wasn't limited to the Pegasus galaxy. "I guess it happens everywhere."

"You are not from here?"

"No." Simple is best.

"You are gate travelers?"

"Yeah." Lorne isn't stupid. He knows that spies have been planted in prison cells to lure unwary captives into sympathetic, and unwitting betrayals. "Why do you call the Varashi skull takers?"

Aris shudders. "The tales say that they used to decapitate their enemies and leave their heads on the city gates. They say the walls of Varash, their home world, were built of skulls."

"Are we on Varash?"

Aris laughs weakly. "No. Varash is long dead. The Wraith culled and destroyed it."

"So, no love lost between the Varash and the Wraith." He thinks maybe he could bargain with his captors after all.

"The Wraith are enemies of all, but the Varash hate my people more than the Wraith, for they believe the Wraith came to our planet first, seeking our treasure, and were betrayed by us. If they could wipe us from the skies, they would."

"The Wraith aren't treasure hunters."

"Our treasure was said to give power beyond imagining to its possessors."

"The Wraith found it?"

"No."

Lorne is starting to put the pieces of the puzzle together. A treasure that gives limitless power, the Varashi possessing a weapons platform, but needing the ATA gene to use it against the planet that betrayed them to the Wraith ... A ZPM? If the Varashi can fire the chair, they must have a ZPM ... maybe one near depletion. Lorne looks at Aris' ruined face. "Why did they do that to you?"

"Because my father is T'kai Molas, the leader of my people. They believe that if I break, I will tell them of the treasure. But I do not know. Nobody knows. It is lost." He sounds suddenly young and desolate. Lorne decides he's no plant by the Varashi. He's still no closer to deciding what his next step will be when the door to the cell opens and two guards come in. One has a stunner aimed at Lorne, the other drags an unresisting Aris away.

Lorne knows that if he's stunned again, it will wreak havoc on his nervous system for a long time. He's still weak from the second blast. He shrugs at the guard and scoots into in the corner, his back to the wall, his hands limp on the floor. Passive. The guard grunts and backs out of the cell, leaving Lorne alone.

The screams begin a short time later. They are agonizing, hopeless, and they go on for a very long time. Lorne, who has killed, and who has seen men killed in ways that have haunted his dreams, prays that he will not have to see Aris' ruined face. The last scream ends abruptly. A door slams, and the Varashi guards drag a body past his cell. Lorne recognizes the clothes. One of the guards, hearing his choked gasp, looks at him and smiles. "You're next."

Before joining SGC, Lorne took Air Force SERE training. _Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape_. He figured this was more of an RESE kind of situation. He would resist, he would escape. He'd deal with the Evade and Survive later.

He doesn't get that far.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

"I'm ready." Ronon spins his gun once and slides it into the holster.

He looks fierce, indomitable, a warrior from legends, Cadman thinks. She hopes he is the force multiplier they need. Lorne has been missing for forty-eight hours. She hates the waste of time. She would have gone from gate to gate to find him, even though intellectually she knows that would have been fruitless. It has taken more time than she likes for Zelenka to extract three addresses from the list that still had active gates.

He hands them to her apologetically. "I have three, but there is no guarantee that you will find Colonel Lorne. The addresses are highly suspect. I tried to compare them to the Ancient database, but the list had many inaccuracies."

Cadman feels like crying, but she looks away and meets Ronon's fierce, sympathetic eyes. "It's a starting point." She turns to Mr. Woolsey. "We're ready, sir."

"Good luck. Bring him home."

"Yes, sir."

Laura knows everybody thinks she and Evan are lovers. They're wrong. They love each other, sure, but not in that way. Their careers have been roughly parallel: he's a mining engineer, she is a demolition expert. They have a similar style of command. They share the same slightly skewed sense of humor. Laughter and trust aren't such bad foundations for any relationship.

"Let's move out," she says to her team and Ronon. There is a jumper waiting for them. Sergeant Stackhouse pilots it through the gate and the search is on.

The first planet is devoid of life. Scans from the jumper corroborate this, but they do a sweep from the ground anyway. Sour disappointment scours Cadman's throat. "Let's go to the next address," she says. Ronon walks behind her like a bulwark of strength at her back. She feels his support and is grateful that she isn't doing this alone.

They step out onto a meadow. The grass has been tended, and a path leads towards the edge of the clearing.

"Cook fires," Ronon says, pointing to a smudge on the horizon.

Cadman's heart lifts a bit. Maybe, just maybe this is the right planet. "Move out," she orders. She looks at Ronon. "Take the lead on this one. I never know how natives are going to feel about women in command." She's heard stories from Sam Carter that were both amusing and terrifying.

"I could go alone," he suggests with a slight grin. "I won't shoot anybody."

"Or physically maim them in any way?" She grins back. "Seriously, if you even suspect that this is the right place, radio me STAT, and wait for us before you decide to go on a solo rescue mission." She presses a photo of Lorne into his hand. "Be careful who you show this to."

"Yeah." He looks at the picture, smooths it before he tucks it into his tunic. "He's tough. He'll be all right."

"I know." She doesn't know and she has little faith in the world. She's seen too many people die.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Shortly after Aris' body was dragged past his cell, a hooded interrogator enters. He carries a short black rod that delivers a shock as he digs the point into Lorne's ribs.

"Get up," he rasps.

"Sure thing ..." Lorne drags himself to his feet. His ribs feel like they're on fire. He straightens up with a grimace and follows his captor out into the dank hallway and a second guard, also with a prod, follows him. If he's prodded in the spine, he'll be paralyzed. He does as he's told, glancing around surreptitiously. There's not much to see. Stone walls, metal sconces ... rows of empty cells. He wonders if that's a good sign or a bad one.

He is pushed into a dim room. Rough hands strip him of his clothes. They shove a pair of flimsy trousers and a loose shirt into his hands, and he is grateful for that shred of dignity. He is manacled to rings suspended from the ceiling. If he were taller, it would be merely uncomfortable; as it is, his weight has to rest on the balls of his feet, or put too much strain on his shoulders. Maybe that's their plan.

"Um ... this isn't very hospitable of you." He tries humor, but his voice sounds weak, and the tall man with the prod doesn't seem to find his effort particularly amusing. He gives Lorne a quick punch in the stomach. Evan tastes blood on his mouth when his teeth inadvertently tear his cheek. _It is going to be a long night ...._

It is the longest night of his life. They don't let him sleep. If he starts drifting off, they get out the prods. Sometimes it's a quick punch, sometimes a slow agonizing stroke down his ribs, or a push into his armpits, the side of his neck, his hip, his groin. He doesn't know how long they torture him. He only knows that he screams, he cries, but he doesn't talk.

He's not ashamed of his tears. He doesn't beg them to take him back to the chair. He doesn't gibber that he'll do anything they ask, even though he flinches every time that hooded figure moves.

Finally, they take him down. He collapses on the hard floor, wanting to weep for the sensation of the cool stones against his face, on his body, which feels like it is on fire. He lies there, dying of thirst, nauseated but with nothing in his stomach but bile, and in too much pain to rest. His nerves are twitching from the sustained shocks, he is shivering and sick.

"They'll come for me," he whispers. "They'll come for me."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Cadman paces, knowing that Stackhouse is following her every move as if he expects her to break. The other marines are exchanging anxious glances, and Laura forces herself to slow down, to be calm. _Where is Ronon?_ He has gone off by himself on rescue missions before, and she prays that isn't the case now. Evan is missing, and it's like having part of her heart torn away. Movement keeps her from replaying their mission over and over in her mind, trying to see if there was something she had missed, some sign that they were on the road to failure. Logically, she knew she shouldn't berate herself; none of them should, but it doesn't help that gnawing cramp in her gut that is made of fear, guilt, and loss.

When her radio clicks in her ear, she nearly jumps out of her skin. "You found him?"

"No, but I have another gate address. These people have traded with the Varashi."

"Good work," Cadman says. "Get back here and we'll check it out."

"Yeah." There is hesitation in his voice that chills Laura, but she decides to wait to question him. She turns to the marines. "We have a new address. Full military kit, stun grenades, stunners and P-90s, C4."

Stackhouse's mouth twitches, and Laura gives him a small smile back. Lorne's love of C4 in dire situations borders on the legendary. That's what comes from being a mining engineer for SGC early in his career. Now, he's a pilot, but C4 can still make him grin with delight. The memory of his smile gives Laura a momentary pang beneath her breastbone. _Please, God, let us be in time_ , she prays.

Ronon arrives as they are finishing their preparations. He ducks into the jumper, looks around and tilts his head, indicating Laura should talk to him outside. Her heart sinks. "What is it?" she asks.

Ronon looks troubled, anger running close to the surface. "These people traded with the Varashi in good faith and the Varashi turned on them two years ago. They say the Varashi have become ravishers; taking slaves, destroying villages, turning on their former allies by betraying them to the Wraith."

"Great. So now we have to worry about the Wraith on top of everything else." She starts heading back inside the jumper. Ronon catches her elbow gently. "What?"

"The Varashi don't take hostages."

The world beneath Laura's feet lurches. She has been depending on dealing with kidnappers, of using brains and lures to free Lorne, now that option seems to be gone. "What else?"

"They've been boasting about a weapon so powerful that they will destroy worlds with it."

"Could they have Ancient technology?"

"Lorne has the gene."

"So do Stackhouse and Daniels."

"Lorne has it naturally," Ronon says softly. "With Sheppard gone, he's the strongest one."

Laura looks at him. "We'll get him back. Give Stackhouse the coordinates. We'll go in cloaked."

"This might be nothing," Ronon warns.

"No. I think this is it. I _feel_ it is." She doesn't know what she will do if it isn't. She doesn't know what she will do if they are too late.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Lorne opens his eyes. Nothing focuses. He closes them again, waits a few moments and opens them again. The first things he sees are his fingers. There is a smear of blood across his knuckles. He remembers biting his cheek, and he can taste the rusty sweetness in his mouth. His fingers move weakly. Just beyond his immediate reach he sees a metal cup. He moves it closer, dips his fingertips into liquid, moves them to his mouth. He tastes it. There is a peculiar sweetness to it. He doesn't know if that is just the taste of the water on the planet, or if there has been something added to it -- a drug, a poison. He is parched, but he tips the cup over, spilling the contents.

It finally registers that his hands are free. He closes his eyes and tries to envision his tormentors. They wear gray or black hooded cloaks. Gray-cloak cinches his cloak with a belt. Is there a scabbard for a knife? A short sword? He thinks there is. If he can get hold of the weapon, he could fight his way out of here, find some help. Get to the chair. If he launches a drone and detonates it, maybe somebody will see it ... his people, in a jumper. At this point, he'd even take the Wraith ... he knows how to get off a Wraith ship.

He wonders if he's thinking clearly enough, if he's strong enough. If he doesn't get out of here, if he doesn't _try_ , he might as well die here. If he dies, it's better to die fighting. The door opens and he sees boots and the hem of a gray cloak.

"Get him on his feet."

Lorne lets them drag him up. He keeps his head down, checks to see if he was right about the knife. It's there, a long thin poignard. He lifts his head slowly and meets the icy eyes of his abductor. He needs to lure the man closer.

"Have you reconsidered your decision?"

"Fuck, no." Lorne doesn't think the obscenity will translate but he lets his tone speak. "I will _never_ let you use me. Never."

The man lifts a long finger and slides it down Lorne's cheek. "You must be thirsty, yet you didn't drink." His finger presses against Lorne's Adam's apple. "You really should have."

"I didn't like the taste." Lorne lunges for the knife, his fingers close on the hilt, he pulls it free and grips it, intending to slide it under the man's ribcage to slice into his heart. His reflexes aren't as sharp as they had been. Torture has weakened him and he feels like he is moving in slow motion. He is hit with a stun rod to his chest, and pain lances through him. It feels like it will stop his heart and he thinks that might be better than what that liquid will do to him, as he slides to the floor.

"I think you will drink now."

Lorne tries to fight, but he is held down by two guards who push his abused shoulders to the stone floor. He has no strength to fight them. His mouth is forced open and a liquid is poured into his mouth. He has no choice but to swallow. He chokes on the liquid as it burns its way down his throat into his stomach. He tries to spit it out, but the damage is done. He feels the world growing fuzzy around the edges. He doesn't lose consciousness, just control. He is dragged out of the cell to the chair room. They lash his arms in place, force his palms onto the control pads.

The chair comes to life as his gene activates it. Evan tries to keep it from initializing. It hurts; the chair's programming is like a living thing, it fights him. His head throbs with pain, it lances down his nerves. He doesn't know if it's the drug, or his stubborn reluctance, or the ZPM giving up the last of its power, but the chair's power fades and weakens, even as Lorne does. He slumps down, completely exhausted but feeling a small flicker of victory.

His head is pulled back by his hair, and the poignard is at his throat. "Do it," he is commanded.

"Go to Hell." His words are slurred, still defiant. The Varashi tears the thin material from him body with one strong pull. Cold metal glides across his neck, warm blood flows down his skin. It's slow, not arterial spray, so it won't kill him. "Cut deeper," he challenges, and the Varashi's eyes glow with rage. He backhands Lorne across the cheek, opening a cut that adds more blood to the sluggish flow from his throat. The Varashi holds out his hand for a stunner and runs it down Lorne's chest and stomach, to his groin. Lorne screams until his throat is raw and swollen, but the chair remains lifeless.

Rough hands haul him out of the chair. He is thrown against a stone wall, his head hitting hard. He feels blood starting to soak his hair. Dazed, he looks up. The gray cloaked man has his stun rod out, the tip poised over Lorne's heart. _This is death_ , Lorne thinks. He isn't sure he cares. The rod touches his breast and Lorne feels his heart convulse and stutter in its rhythm. It's not the _coup de grace_ Lorne had anticipated, just another cruelty before the Varashi throws the stun rod to one of the guards and leans over him.

"You will beg for death," he whispers against Lorne's cheek. "But it will not come ... Your people will die, your city will fall, and all because of your pride." He backs away, turns to his guards. "He's yours. Do with him what you will."

Lorne watches helplessly as two black-clad men approach him. One has the stun rod, the other stands over him; the toes of his boots are clad in metal. He draws back and kicks Lorne in the side. The pain makes him scream. There is no subtlety in what they do. Even after Lorne passes out, they continue to beat him until the room is spattered with his blood. Then they leave him to die.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
The signal is so faint that at first Stackhouse thinks it is the result of wishing to hear it so fiercely that it's a hallucination. It is weak, stuttering, but it is definitely the chirp of a subcutaneous transmitter.

"Lieutenant, I've got something," he calls back to Cadman. "Looks like one of ours."

Laura leans over his shoulder and looks at the display. "Is it ...?"

"I think so. It's erratic, and very faint."

"Electronic interference?"

He takes a breath, not wanting to say what he really thinks. "That's one explanation."

Laura won't ask him with the other is. She turns to Ronon and the Marines. "Okay. We'll land the jumper. Ronon and I will go ahead. Keep your radio channels open. Any hint of trouble, go back to the jumper and come get us."

"Are there any other life signs?" she asks Stackhouse.

"None in the area of ... none near the other." He gets up from the pilot's seat. "Ma'am, I want to come with you. If there's trouble, Danielson can fly the jumper."

Cadman looks at him. He is deadly serious. He's been on Lorne's team for a long time, they've saved each other's lives. He cares, almost as much as she does, as much as Ronon does. Another gun is never a bad idea. "Let's go. Sergeant Danielson, you have your orders."

They leave the jumper and head towards what looks like a fortress in the near distance. There is no sign of life, or human habitation. A dry wind whispers through the grasses. It sounds mournful, like an exhalation of life. Laura shivers, despite the heat of the sun on her back. Ronon looks grim. "This is a dead place," he says. He kicks a tussock of grass and nearly jumps back when bones show through the earth. He looks more closely at what he thought were merely rounded stones and realizes that they're skull and bone fragments. He picks up and handful and shows Laura. "Bones."

"Auschwitz," Laura whispers. "It's like Auschwitz. My great-grandfather was with the liberators. He told me about it ... he took me there." The sense of evil lingers like a miasma, and she grips her P-90 like a talisman against it. She remembers holding her grandfather's hand and wishes that she had somebody holding her hand now.

Stackhouse is somber as he looks around. "The whole place is a graveyard. There must be thousands of bodies buried here." He looks at his life signs detector. "This way ..." he gestures ahead. He doesn't tell Cadman that the signal is growing fainter instead of stronger.

At first they stay off any paths worn through the grasses. Ronon has scooped up handfuls of dust, rubbing it into his leathers to dull them. Laura and Stackhouse, in desert cammo, blend in easily. They don't move as quickly as Laura would like, less than a hundred yards at a time before pausing, waiting for any sign that their presence has been noticed. Nothing else stirs. The distance is deceiving, the land's rolling contours making the fortress seem closer than it is.

Stackhouse can't keep quiet any longer. "Ma'am, we need to hurry. The signal is fading."

Laura knows what that a means. She is already as pale as the dust clinging to her uniform. She taps her radio. "Danielson, bring the jumper to our current position. Stay cloaked. We'll find you." She looks at the walls of the fortress, less than a mile away now. "Okay, let's pick up the pace. We'll risk the road."

Ronon is already off at a lope, his long tireless legs eating up the ground, his gun drawn. Laura and Stackhouse follow. Laura wonders at the complete absence of life. There should be something, somebody ... maybe this is all a trap. It wouldn't be the first time a transmitter had been cut out of one of their people.

Danielson's voice startles her. "Ma'am, not to alarm you or anything, but we're picking up a Wraith cruiser. Far away yet, and maybe not heading this way. I ran a scan and there's an energy signature that looks like a ship entering hyperspace about an hour ago."

"Thank you, sergeant." She motions to Stackhouse. "Did you hear that?"

"Yeah. Maybe that's why there aren't any other life signs. The picked up the Wraith cruiser and beat a retreat."

"Okay, let's go in the front door. I'm tired of this," she tells Ronon. He acknowledges with a wave of his hand, though he continues running towards the fortress walls. As they get closer, the construction of the walls grows more distinct, as if it were built of rounded stones. Ronon stops, stares up at them, waits for Laura and Stackhouse to catch up to him.

"Who are these people? Who built this place? These are skulls! Thousands of them."

Stackhouse looks spooked. " _Golgotha,_ " he whispers hoarsely.

Laura has no answers. She really doesn't care. "They're gone. Let's find the way inside. Stackhouse, how's the signal?"

"No weaker, but not stronger, either."

"Okay. Let's ring the front doorbell." Laura looks at the gates. Ronon pushes them. They are perhaps twenty feet high, build of timber that looks hard as rock. Laura takes out two cubes of C4. She packs the plastic into what looks like the most vulnerable places, locks and hinge. They run back and she sets the detonator. "This is for you, Evan," she whispers and depresses the button. The explosion is huge and effective. The dust clears, revealing one door hanging ajar on it's hinges. Ronon, coughing, pushes it aside.

"Stackhouse?"

He's studying the detector in his hand. "This way," he points and Laura lets him take the lead. If there were any defenses, they're passive ones. She keeps an eye out for anything that might indicate a booby trap; tripwires, the sheen of a mine. She doesn't think there are any. This place was built to inspire fear and terror. "This is a prison," Laura says. "That's why there aren't defenses."

"Or life signs," Ronon says. There is a pile of bodies, limbs tangled and contorted. "Fresh kills," he says, his voice thick. Laura doesn't want to look. She takes a step toward Ronon, but Stackhouse holds her back.

"He'll do it. You don't have to."

Ronon is already laying the bodies out, giving them some dignity. "He's not here." Only the lifting of his shoulders betrays his relief. They leave the bodies in the courtyard and go inside the main keep.

It is cold. Not cool, cold. Laura shivers inside her desert gear. Ronon doesn't seem to notice. He isn't coding the place, but his gun stays in his hand. Laura walks beside Stackhouse, focusing on the faint glow of the detector.

"Stairs," Ronon says. "Down there?"

"Yeah." Stackhouse nods. "I think so." He digs a lighter out of his pocket. "Torches on the walls. We'll need light."

Ronon takes the lighter and reaches up to light the way. He takes one out of the sconce and carries it. The flame-cast shadows are haunting. There are more bodies at the bottom of the stairs. Manacled together, they lie as they fell. Ronon gives them a quick look. Shakes his head.

"How did they die?" Laura asks. They seem unmarked; starved and brutalized, but not bearing any significant wounds.

"Don't know. Some kind of lethal stunner. It looks like burns on their chests over their hearts." He looks at his gun. "At least they died quick."

"Not quickly enough," Stackhouse mutters, then gives Laura an apologetic look. "Sorry, ma'am."

She shakes off the paralyzing fear that one of the bodies was Lorne's. "We need to hurry." She tries to contact the jumper, but the signal is being blocked. They'll need to get outside. She holds out her hand for the detector. "Go topside, tell Danielson to move to the front gate but stay cloaked. Find out what's happening with the Wraith cruiser."

"I'll be back." He folds her cold fingers over the detector. "He's not far."

She looks at the signal. It should be stronger. She looks at Ronon. "This way for about fifty yards, then there's another corridor on the left. We go that way."

She follows the signal on the detector, turns left into a corridor that narrows quickly and slopes downwards. There are cells cut into the rocks. Ronon sweeps the torch down one side, while Laura uses her mag-lite on the other. They are empty, the doors unlocked. She guesses this is where the dead prisoners had been kept. Some of the cells have dark stains on the walls and floor that she prefers not to think about even though she can smell the old scent of blood.

Ronon stops in front of a cell, curses softly. "Cadman."

 _No,_. She hasn't come this far to find Lorne dead. There is a body in the cell, face turned towards the wall. A pile of fabric is in the corner; an Atlantis military uniform. "No ..." she sighs, and feels like she's going to faint.

Ronon turns the body. "Don't look," he says, but Laura has to look. It's not as if she hasn't seen bodies before. The face is obliterated by scars ... old scars, and she swallows, half-relieved but horrified nonetheless.

"It's not him. This man has been starved. Lorne has only been missing for 48 hours. Not long enough to become this emaciated."

"The uniform is his."

"Take it with us." She leans against the wall. "Wait, what is that medallion around the man's neck?"

Ronon breaks the chain and hands it to her. "You know this?"

"I've seen one like it. T'kai Molas wore it. This might be his son." She stows the medallion in her pack. "He deserves at least this much back."

They leave the body and move on. The air is somewhat fresher, even though there doesn't seem to be any light filtering in. They come to a dead end and a tall door that isn't a cell. There are markings on it. Laura doesn't read Ancient, but she recognizes the symbols. "Look," she says. The detector in her hand is pulsing with light. "He's in here!"

Ronon puts his shoulder to the door and it yields on old metal hinges. They step inside. A faint, far away light filters down, the shaft illuminating the impossible. A weapons chair ... and at the base, what looks like a pile of bloody rags until Ronon bends down. "Lorne!" his voice is painfully rough, but his touch is impossibly gentle as he turns the body.

Laura steps forward dreading what she will see. "Is he alive?"

"Yeah, barely."

Laura kneels next to Ronon. "God," she breathes, almost relieved. His face, other than a cut on his cheek and bruises, is uninjured. His body looks broken. Ronon's hand firms on her shoulder. "They expected us to find him. They wanted us to recognize him," she says, her voice thick in her throat.

"Lieutenant," Ronon is taking Lorne's pulse. His eyes are scanning his body, seeing the blood on the walls, the floor. The thin rags Lorne is wearing are soaked with it. His leg is canted at an odd angle, there are bones sticking through the skin on his fingers, his breath sounds wet and spongy. "We have to get him out of here."

Laura, now that she has him alive, is assessing his condition. "Go to the jumper. Get Stackhouse and two marines. We need a backboard. I'm afraid to move him without one. God knows what else is broken that we can't see."

Ronon nods. He doesn't like leaving her alone, but she's determined beneath the unnatural pallor that makes her sprinkling of freckles stand out like ash. He puts his gun at her side, and when she looks up in surprise, he says, "Just in case this place isn't as empty as it looks."

She nods, but she turns back to Lorne. She can't even give him water, but she moistens a gauze pad from her kit with water from her canteen and wipes it across his lips, leaving a film of moisture. He doesn't move. His head is heavy on her hand, the skin clammy. His pulse beneath her thumb is impossibly slow and at times she swears it misses a beat. She bends her head and her tears fall on his dark hair. _Just keep beating ... please._ It is a hope and a prayer.

She hears a noise in the corridor and grabs Ronon's gun. She aims it at the corridor, her aim steady and cool, her training reflexive. Ronon's big frame eases in the door and her arm comes down slowly. She hands him his gun and reluctantly surrenders her place to Stackhouse and the marines so they can slide Evan's body on to the backboard. They strap him to it, careful of his obvious injuries.

Ronon looks at the chair. "What about that?"

Laura wants to destroy it, but their C4 would hardly put a dent in it. She leaves Lorne's side and presses the control panel at the back of the chair. She pulls the crystals. She can only hope that wherever the ZPM is, it's nearly depleted. "Let's go."

As they carry him to the surface, Ronon puts a hand on her elbow to guide her. It feels like a funeral cortege, he thinks; then shoves that thought deep in the box where he keeps all of his secret fears.

Danielson is waiting for them, his eyes a little too wide. "The Wraith cruiser is heading this way and launching darts."

"Shit!" Laura curses. "Get in and secure that backboard. Stackhouse, take the pilot's seat. Danielson, shotgun."

"They can't see us, right?" he asks.

"Not the jumper, but if they're close they'll see us activate the gate." She is checking the straps securing the backboard. She can't help if her fingers brush Lorne's hair. It's stiff with blood. She leans in, whispers. "We'll get you home. Just stay with us." If the marines hear her, they don't show it, but Ronon's eyes are uncharacteristically soft. It's that pity that nearly breaks her.

"Ma'am," Stackhouse speaks to her. "I'm about to dial the gate."

"How close are the Wraith?"

"Close, but the darts aren't heading this way yet."

Laura has a thought. "We have drones. Fire one at the fortress. She leans over Stackhouse's shoulder. The display shows the darts, the gate, their own position. "Go. Now!"

The gate activates. Stackhouse fires the drone. They all hold their breath, praying that their dialing sequence blocks the Wraiths'. If the Wraith beat them to it, they'll be trapped. Lorne can't afford any delay. Then the horizon clears and they shoot through as the drone impacts on the fortress and detonates in a blinding flash of light.

It happens so quickly that Laura's heart rate hasn't returned to normal as Stackhouse guides the jumper through the Atlantis gate. She gets on the radio. "Med team to the gate room, STAT!"

As Keller and her team reach the jumper, Laura's knees give out and she sinks to the jumper floor, her head buried in her arms, sobbing her heart out. It is Ronon who shields her long enough for her to regain some semblance of composure and help her to her feet.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

"You destroyed a chair?" Woolsey looks both incredulous and furious. "A chair?"

Laura clasps her shaking hands behind her back. "Sir, I didn't know what else to do. The Wraith were on the way. I didn't want the chair to fall into their hands. I can only speculate that the DHD was nearly depleted, which is why they kidnapped Aris Molas, and when that failed, went after somebody with the ATA gene."

"That is the most insane, ingenious, and, if you'll excuse the expression, ballsy decision I think I have ever seen -- and that includes some of Lt. Colonel Sheppard's ideas -- here in the Pegasus Galaxy."

Laura blinks at him. "Thank you, sir."

Woolsey is scribbling his signature on a piece of official-looking paper. "I believe the next time we meet, you will be _Captain_ Cadman."

"Thank you, sir. But I don't understand ... the next time?"

Woolsey hands her the paper. "Your temporary transfer to SGC. Effective immediately. You'll leave as soon as you're packed."

Laura can feel the blood drain from her face. "Sir, please, I'd like to stay until Colonel Lorne regains consciousness."

"Unless that happens within the next several hours, I don't see how that will be possible. You did see whose signature is on those papers?"

"Yes, sir."

"I make it a point not to cross General O'Neill."

"Yes, sir. Is that all?"

"Lieutenant, thank you. You are a remarkable officer and a credit to the marines here on Atlantis."

"Thank you, sir." She turns crisply on her heel and leaves before she can start whining like a spoiled child denied a demand. It takes less than an hour to pack up her belongings. She grabs a sandwich and a cup of coffee from the mess and goes right to the infirmary.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Jennifer Keller is one of the best doctors in two galaxies, otherwise she wouldn't be on Atlantis. She has seen injuries and conditions that she never thought possible. She has lost patients. She has lost friends, and she is determined not to lose Evan Lorne.

His catalog of injuries is frightening. It's hard to believe he didn't get them in a jet crash, but from a savage beating. She studies the body scans and looks at the printouts of his EEG and ECG. Now that he's getting fluid, his heart rate is stronger but still sluggish. His blood pressure is shockingly low. He has a hairline skull fracture and a concussion. The worst injuries are to his thorax and pelvis. Broken ribs, a collapsed lung, internal bleeding, a dislocated hip, a fractured pelvis, torn muscles and deep-tissue bruises. Blood in his urine ... possible lacerations of his kidneys.

His blood tests are worrying. He has been given some sort of drug, possibly a hallucinogen. His muscles twitch like there are electric shocks pulsing through his nerves ... She hangs her stethoscope around her neck and turns away, pressing her fingers to her eyelids to stay the tears.

"How is he?"

She looks up, startled to see Ronon. He had entered silently, watching her work. "How could anybody do this to him? This is beyond brutality."

"The walls were built of skulls. Stackhouse called it _Golgotha_. Cadman said it was like Auschwitz." The unfamiliar words nearly trip him up, but he watches her for signs of recognition.

"Oh." Jennifer sits down. The frame of reference only makes things worse. "He's strong. I don't know if that's enough to see him through this. Even when the physical wounds heal, he'll have to be in physical therapy for a long time. He needs more than I can give him here."

"He'll have to leave Atlantis?"

"For a while. Perhaps indefinitely." She sighs. "When he's stable, he'll be sent to SGC." Ronon nods, but still looks abandoned. Jennifer takes his arm and stands on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "You're a good friend. He knows that."

"Can I stay?"

"For a few minutes." She pulls a chair up for him. "I'll let you know when it's time."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Laura is still reeling from her talk with Woolsey. She doesn't want to go back to Earth, leave Atlantis, leave Evan without knowing he'll be all right ... if he'll even live. Under any other circumstances the idea of a promotion would be thrilling. Now, it weighs heavily on her.

She pushes aside the curtain to Lorne's cubicle. Ronon is sitting there, his hand on Evan's as if he could will some of his own prodigious strength into Lorne. Laura clears her throat softly and Ronon turns. "Hi."

"Any change?" she asks.

"No."

"I have orders to return to Earth."

Ronon turns to her in surprise. "What? When?"

She shrugs off the first question and answers the second. "In a few hours. I'd like to sit with Evan for a while," she suggests.

"Yeah." He rises. "He'll be okay. You know that, right?"

"I know." She lets the tears overflow, unashamed in front of Ronon. He gathers her in a gentle hug. "Take care of him, okay?"

"Keller says as soon as he's stable, he'll be going back to SGC."

"Really?" She hadn't expected that. "Then take care of him until then."

"You did great out there."

She smiles for the first time in what seems like forever. "Thank you."

After Ronon leaves she sits in the chair, pulls it a bit closer. She is very grateful that the Varashi didn't ruin Evan's face. It makes her believe that he will recover, which is difficult when his hands twitch and his eyes move restlessly beneath his closed eyelids.

She takes his uninjured hand in hers. "If you don't get better, I'll have to kill you," she says, because that's the way they talk to each other. She knows their friendship runs deep. She loves him, but she's not in love _with_ him. "That would just be ugly, you know."

He is still again. His long, dark eyelashes look like smudges of coal on his pale skin. He has such pretty eyes; she's teased him about their devastating effect on both sexes. She just wishes he would wake up so she could see _him_ , not this still, damaged stranger. "Evan," she whispers, "I have to leave now. General O'Neill wants to promote me, so I have to go back to Earth. I'll see you soon, I promise." She smooths the hair back from his forehead and kisses him. She doesn't want to leave, but they're waiting for her in the gate room. In twenty-four hours she'll be stepping through the gate in Cheyenne Mountain.

**Part 2**

Evan's first conscious moments are a confusion of light, noise, fear, and above all, pain. He isn't even aware that he is clawing at the IV tubes in his arms; struggling against immobility and the pain that is burning through every part of his body. There are faces above him, and he thinks he should recognize them, but his brain is too fogged, too panicked for the patterns to make any sense, so he struggles, afraid that he is still in the darkness, that this is all a trick.

Marie is trying to hold him. "Doctor Singh!" She is struggling to keep him from ripping out his IVs, and only succeeding because his hand is hampered by the cast.

Singh appears at her side, a hypodermic in his hand. He injects it into one of Lorne's IV line, and a few seconds later, Lorne goes limp. Marie cleans up the blood from the one IV he did manage to dislodge, reinserts it, and bandages it. Two orderlies put soft restraints on his wrists, which Marie hates to see on him. She feels like a traitor to his trust. His pulse is slower, more regular. She monitors his vital signs for a while longer, then leaves him alone.

The drugs blur everything, but the next time he surfaces, his pain is like the dull edge of a knife. He tries to move and he can't, his wrists are restrained and that sends panic rushing through him like adrenaline. He takes a breath, and nearly passes out as agony knifes through him despite the drugs.

The curtains part and a woman is looking down at him, her eyes concerned over the surgical mask covering the bottom half of her face. She tugs it down and smiles. "Welcome back, Colonel Lorne."

It takes a moment, but finally, his brain kicks into gear. "Dr. Keller? I'm back home?" His eyes are moving, trying to take everything in, to cofirm that he isn't hallucinating.

"That's right. You're in the infirmary on Atlantis."

"Why am I restrained?" He shrinks back from her touch, which makes her eyes sad.

"You woke up yesterday and tried to rip out your IVs."

His eyes travel up the lines to the pouches hung on poles. "Sorry."

He means it, and if he weren't so pale she's certain he would be blushing. She releases the restraints. "How's that?"

"Better, I think." He can't move his arms. One of them is encased in a cast, the other is free, but he is too weak to raise it more than a few inches before it falls back to the covers. "How did I get here?" Memory is returning, and with it residual fear. "I thought I was dead."

Jennifer's smile is a bit forced. "Dead? You're too stubborn, Colonel. Lieutenant Cadman and Ronon, along with a few marines found you and brought you back to Atlantis. It was quite a rescue."

"Laura? Is she all right? Can I see her?"

"She's fine, Colonel, but she's on her way to SGC. I hear she's going to be Captain Cadman."

He smiles at that, a brief happiness. Keller takes out her stethoscope. "I'm going to take your vital signs, if that's okay." He nods, but when she reaches out to touch him, he stiffens and his eyes darken with apprehension. "It won't hurt," she promises.

"I know, but right now, everything hurts," he replies breathlessly. He is remembering too much as the drugs wear off. Every nerve in his body seems to be on fire. Even Keller's gentle touch is overwhelming. By the time she finishes her examination, he's shaking.

She can feel the quiver beneath her hands. "I'm going to give you something a little stronger for the pain now that you're lucid. It should help. It will make you drowsy, though. Don't fight it. You need to rest."

"I sleepwalk," he says, not meeting her eyes.

"Colonel, right now, I don't think you could sleep-stand," she jests. "But we'll keep an eye on you just in case."

The drug she injects into the IV takes effect almost immediately. He feels himself sliding into sleep. "Stay?" he asks.

"All right." She knows he'll be out cold soon. She takes his hand. "I'm not going anywhere," she soothes. "Just rest. You're safe now."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

_The city isn't safe. He has to protect the city, its people. HIS people. He runs into the control room. The first person he sees is McKay. He grabs his arm. "C'mon, Doc. We have to get out of here."_

_McKay looks at him with dead eyes. "It's too late. You're too late. The city has fallen and we'll all die. It's your fault," he says. "You left us without defenses. We needed you and you left us behind."_

_"No. No, doc. Come with me. We can make it through the gate." He drags McKay through the event horizon and they step out onto the dead world, the place of skulls._

_"Where are we?" McKay asks._

_"Golgotha," Lorne says. His heart is pounding, he can't walk. The soil underfoot is collapsing. McKay stumbles into a pit and Lorne tries to grab him, but his hand is useless, broken. He can't hold on! McKay falls and as he does, his face melts into unrecognizable scars ... "NO!" Lorne screams ... it's too late. It's always too late ..._

"Lorne! Come on, buddy. Wake up. It's okay. I've got you."

Something about the voice is more real than the nightmare. He clings to it, follows it up from sleep. He opens his eyes. Ronon. Big, gentle hands rest on his shoulders and Lorne sighs and leans back against the pillows. "I hope I didn't wake up screaming." His IVs are intact, but his throat feels raw.

"No. Just tossing around. Not a good idea." Ronon releases his shoulders and sits in the chair. "Good to see you awake."

"It's good to be awake, I think." He closes his eyes. The light hurts. "Keller says you came for me. Thank you."

Ronon shrugs, almost embarrassed by Lorne's gratitude. "Cadman made me do it." He grins, just to let Lorne know he's joking. "I'd have done it anyway. Sheppard told me to keep an eye on you."

"I'm okay."

Ronon lifts a brow. "It was a bad place," he says quietly. He won't go into details that Lorne would probably prefer to forget. "You're home. So listen to what the doctors tell you."

Lorne nearly laughs at that coming from Ronon. Instead, his eyes well with tears. He closes them, hoping they won't fall, but he feels one leak from beneath his eyelids. Ronon squeezes his wrist with a light touch. "I'll come back later. You want some blue jello?"

Evan tries not to laugh. His weakness for the blue stuff is common knowledge. "Bring me that contraband," he smiles. "Thanks."

"You have to eat something," Ronon reasons. "I'll check it out with Keller."

"Check out what with me?" Jennifer looks in. "Everything okay?"

"Can he have something to eat?" Ronon asks. He really doesn't want to do anything to hurt Lorne more than he already is.

"Clear liquids are fine. We'll be taking the IV out now that your blood pressure is back to normal. She listens to his heart. "I don't think blue jello will hurt." She smiles, pats his shoulder. "I'll be back in a little while."

"Is McKay all right?" The remnants of the dream resurface. Jennifer looks at him, a bit mystified by the question.

"Rodney? He's fine. About to have a nervous breakdown over the wedding, but other than that ... he's, you know, Rodney."

Lorne blinks at her. "Wedding?"

"Earth, two months. Mark your calendar. Besides, you said you would be one of my attendants."

"I did?" His brain isn't functioning. He doesn't remember.

"I knew I shouldn't have asked while you and Zelenka were playing chess. In one ear and out the other. Men!"

"Okay, yes. I'll be there. You might have to push me up the aisle in a wheelchair ..."

She smiles brilliantly. "Any way we can make it work," she kisses his cheek, and he doesn't flinch away this time. "I just want to give you a heads-up. You'll be gated back to Earth to recuperate. You're going to need some extensive physical therapy."

"Great." He grimaces, knowing what that entails. To his chagrin, he yawns. "I think I'll sleep for a while." He closes his eyes, trying to convince them, and himself, that he is getting back to normal.

"Do you need more pain meds?" Keller asks. He hears her tapping on a data pad. "I can order some if you do."

He doesn't answer. He hates the drugs, the way he feels like he's being smothered by them. Waking from them is like clawing his way through cobwebs. The pain grounds him to reality. You don't feel pain in dreams. He drops into sleep like a deep river ...

Ronon follows Keller as she leaves. He waits while she enters figures into her data pad. "What?" she asks.

He isn't sure how to talk about Lorne. He shakes his head. "Nothing."

Keller nods. "I know. I wish I could keep him here, but he needs more care than we can provide. Rodney got the go-ahead to gate him directly to SGC and by-pass the Midway station." She looks at Ronon to see if he understands how grave Lorne's condition is. Dialing through to Earth drains valuable power and is only used in emergencies.

Ronon nods and leaves without saying anything. He pauses outside Woolsey's office, then knocks on the glass panel. Woolsey looks up from his paperwork and motions him to enter. "What can I do for you, Ronon?"

Ronon shifts from foot to foot. Despite everything he's been through with Woolsey, he still thinks of him as being IOA, not the head of the Atlantis expedition. The IOA has never inspired much confidence in him. He takes a breath. "Keller told me Lorne is being gated out tomorrow."

"Yes."

"I want to go with him."

Woolsey raises a brow. "Go on."

"I need a reason?"

Woolsey looks at him. "A reason? I just said yes."

"Um, ah ... thank you."

"You didn't think I'd send him alone, did you? Oh, I need your mission report. I suppose you will be your usual succinct self?"

Ronon doesn't understand half of what Woolsey says. "Yeah." He backs out of the office, feeling more charitable towards Woolsey than he has in a while.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Lorne's return to Earth is unexpectedly delayed when he spikes a fever high enough to cause delirium. He says things in his fevered dreams that haunt Keller. She hadn't known how much he kept from her, from all of them. Rodney finds her in tears in her office after Lorne's fever finally breaks. "Hey, what's wrong? Is Lorne worse?"

"His fever broke."

"That's good news, right?"

"Yes." She dries her eyes and goes to Rodney for a hug. "What was done to him ... I don't know if he can come back from this."

Rodney pats her back. "Sure he can. He's strong. He's not a cream puff scientist like me. He's like Sheppard. Tough as they come."

"John is retired," Jennifer reminds him.

"He has his reasons, and they don't have anything to do with Atlantis."

Jennifer sighs and pats Rodney's cheek. "I know." What she really wants to say is that Rodney should keep believing that, but she is too kind and knows Rodney too well. "Will you marry me?" she asks, smiling.

"Funny, I thought I already asked you that." He kisses her. "Two months."

"He said he would stand up with me," Jennifer sighs. "I hope he can."

"He'll be there."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

The fever sets Lorne's recovery and return to SGC back by several days, and when he goes through the gate, he's propped up on a gurney. He had hoped for a wheelchair. Ronon is at his side under the guise of delivering status reports from Woolsey, but Lorne suspects that's a cover-up. Still, he's glad to have Ronon there. His stomach is tied in knots and the fingers on his unbroken hand are curled into tight fists under the blankets tucked around him. He feels a faint tug of regret at leaving Atlantis, intensified by the almost physical withdrawal of leaving the city and by Teyla's soft kiss on his cheek as she wishes him a quick recovery. She tucks a small care package against his side.

"What's this?" he asks, curious.

"Some tea that you like and an Athosian healing charm." She sets a gentle hand on his arm. "We will see you soon." She steps aside as the gate comes to life and settles into the calm blue of the event horizon.

Then Ronon is guiding the gurney through the gate and in a few seconds, they are walking down the ramp at Cheyenne Mountain. Ronon squeezes his shoulder. "See you soon."

"Thanks, Ronon." It's all he has time for, and he wishes Ronon a safe return as Dr. Lam's medical team wheels him to the infirmary.

By the time Lam has finished her examination, he is dizzy and nauseous with pain. Every nerve and muscle has been prodded into agonizing life. He knows this is necessary, but it has also brought back memories of his capture and torture that make him shake.

Lam notices the tremors racing through him. She raises a brow. "I'm going to give you a morphine pump," she informs him. "I expect you to use it as needed. Please, don't tell me that you're fine."

"Yes, ma'am." He knows he isn't fine. A nurse prepares the pump and puts the control in his hand. She explains it, as if a man who can pilot six different kinds of fighter jets _and_ a starship needs instructions on how to push a button.

"Don't wait until you're screaming with pain to dose yourself," Lam warns. She knows his type too well, and she's General Landry's daughter, so Evan subsides meekly. He holds up the control and pushes the button. Relief is quick and welcome. Lam holds out a pill. "This, too."

"What is it?"

"Just something to take the edge off the tension that I can feel screaming through your body," she says. "It will help you sleep."

Lorne closes her hand around it. "I'm fine. The morphine is great. Really." As if to prove his point, he closes his eyes. He hears her sigh.

"If you change your mind, it's on your tray. If you're not sleeping in half an hour ..." She works on his chart for a few minutes. By the time she turns back to the bed, he's out, his hand lax on the covers, his lips parted, looking far too young and broken. She hates that they get to her like this. She should be hardened by now. She shakes her head and wishes her heart didn't ache for Lorne.

The pain makes time pass slowly. Evan uses the morphine pump when he needs to sleep, but most of the time he tries to ignore how awful he feels. He sleeps more during the day than at night; often waking when he hears the distant klaxon of the gate room alert. It's almost welcome when it comes. The silence reminds him too much of the dungeon where the Varashi held him prisoner. He wonders if this would be easier to bear if he'd been injured in a crash, rather than tortured. He wonders if he'd dream of crashing rather than captivity, of Atlantis falling because he had failed in some way to do his duty. It hadn't happened like that, he tells himself over and over. Still, the sense of despair and failure clings to him like cold hands.

He's only been at SGC for three days, but it feels like an eternity. He asks for, and is given, a laptop which helps relieve some of the unrelenting boredom of being laid up and virtually immobile. His inbox is full of well-wishes from Pegasus. He'll have to remember to be nice to McKay and to thank him for the frequent data bursts.

Laura is off-world, leading a gate team for Major Sievers, who is recuperating from a broken leg suffered in a totally mundane skiing accident. She emails several times a day, telling him that she's bored, stuck on a farming planet that nobody is paying _any_ attention to, and monitoring deep-space communications. She makes him laugh, which helps more than any painkillers.

He's sitting in bed, while his hip goes from an ache to feeling as if a construction worker is doing a tap dance on the bone wearing hobnail boots. He hates the pain, hates that he's watching the clock, hates being dependent on the drug to bring him relief. Desperate, he's about to start a mindless game of solitaire to see how long he can stretch it out before he has to hit that button, when a shadow falls across his light.

He pauses, looks up. General Landry is looking down at him. Lorne tries straighten up against the pillows, but Landry raises his hand. "Easy, Colonel." He peers at Evan. "Hit the button, son, before you pass out."

"I won't pass out, sir."

Landry shakes his head. "I was like you once. Mule-stubborn and determined that I was stronger than any bone in my body." He sits down. "What can I do for you, Colonel?"

"A new hip would be good, sir."

"Sorry, son. That's my daughter's specialty." He peers at Lorne from beneath bristly brows. "We need to have a talk when you're up to it," he says. "An official debrief with you and Captain Cadman."

Lorne's stomach clenches and judging from the sudden concerned look, it must show on his face. "Yes, sir," he manages not to sound as weak as he feels.

"When you're up to it," Landry repeats.

"Yes, sir." He doubts he will ever be up to it. The thought of ripping the tender scabs off his wounds is unbearable. When Landry leaves, Lorne hits the morphine pump.

When he wakes up, Dr. Lam comes in with a beefy corpsman. He blinks at them, the morphine fog still dulling his brain. "What?" The morphine doesn't dull his apprehension. Unbidden, the impression of black cloaked torturers rises and he wants to shrink into himself.

"I know you'd like to just lay around here and play solitaire, but it's time for you get on your feet."

"Sure."

"Good." She unhooks the IVs. "We'll take it slowly, don't worry. If the pain is too intense, we'll try again in a few days. If not, then tomorrow you'll start PT." She looks at the corpsman. "Ready?"

He lets the corpsman, whose badge reads _Sgt. Mike Sanchez_ , help him turn his legs over the side of the bed. They look thin, bruised, below the hem of the hospital gown. Mike slides his arms into a robe. At least his ass won't be hanging out ... He takes a deep breath. "Let's do this," he says. His feet touch the cool, smooth floor and with Sanchez on one side and Lam on the other he stands.

It hurts, but not as much as he had anticipated. "Good," Lam says, a touch too brightly. She rolls a wheelchair over to him. "How about a bit of a tour?" She instructs him on how to lower himself to the seat of the chair. His fingers are still splinted, but he manages. Being upright is a bit of a rush. It's the most normal he's felt since ... his brain stutters to a stop, unwilling. Maybe his mind is more damaged than his body. He feels lightheaded, his vision blurring around the edges.

"Sergeant Sanchez!" Lam warns as Lorne slumps in her arms. She watches as Sanchez gently lifts Lorne back to the bed, his head lolling back against the sergeant's arm. "That wasn't what I had hoped for," she mutters and makes a notation on his chart.

He comes to back in bed. Lam and the sergeant are looking down at him, Lam taking his pulse and watching the display over his bed. He can't have been out long. "Must have been all the excitement," he says weakly.

Lam smiles and pats his hand. "We'll try again tomorrow."

The next day is better. The wheelchair is a few steps farther away, but he makes it and remembers his instructions from yesterday. "So, where to?" Mike asks.

"Topside. Fresh air would be great."

"You got it." He settled an extra blanket around Lorne's lap, tucking in around his legs to ward off any drafts. Lorne feels like an aged invalid. They take the elevator up to the surface. There isn't much to see; the arch of the tunnel, chain link fencing, the parking lot. However, there is a view of the Rockies, and he can tip his face to the sky and feel the warmth on his skin, the brush of a breeze through his hair. He guards these moments jealously despite his exhaustion and pain. Mike has walked a small distance away, leaving him the illusion of privacy and peace. Mike's cell phone trills and he answers it, speaking in a low voice. Lorne sighs, the spell broken.

"Sir, are you ready to go in?"

"Was that Dr. Lam making sure I'm not running laps around the base?"

Mike laughs. "No, sir. You have a visitor."

"Really?" He shouldn't feel that much pleasure, but he finds himself smiling despite everything. He lets Mike wheel him into the mess. When he sees Laura, he glows with pleasure. "Hey, Red!"

She grins back just as foolishly. "That's Captain Red, sir."

"So I hear. Congratulations."

Cadman's fair skin flushes, but she is looking at him, hard, measuring his recovery. "You look ..."

"Like crap, I know."

"Better than you did the last time I saw you, sir."

"You saved me," he says, humble and pale.

"Of course I did. You would have done the same for me." She gives him one of her sidelong looks and speaks softly, because she doesn't want anybody to overhear the breach of protocol she's about to commit. "Really, Evan. How are you?"

She's asking as a friend, not as a subordinate officer and he owes her the truth. "I've been better," he admits.

She can see the lines of pain etching his face, the fine tremors in his fingers, the doubt in his eyes. "When will they release you, sir?" The return to formality puts some emotional distance between them.

"As soon as I can walk a few feet without falling on my ass."

"So, tomorrow?"

"Maybe the day after."

His grin is wry, but his eyes are weary and dark-circled, heartbreaking. Laura stands up and takes the handles of his wheelchair so he can't see her expression. "I'll take you back to your room, sir." As she wheels him down the corridors, she tells him about life on her gate team, about their botanist who ended up with a virulent off-world version of poison ivy, interrupting the mission. "Which is good," Laura jokes, "because it was the most boring planet _ever_ in the history of gate travel."

She continues to patter on as Mike helps Lorne back into bed and hooks up the IV and morphine pump. She watches to see if he uses the painkilling drugs. He doesn't, and she's about to push the button for him, because he looks so worn down by pain that it's making her ache for him. She sighs and leans over to give him a kiss on the forehead. It's so far beyond protocol that she half expects warning bells to sound. "Take your meds," she says. "Pain doesn't make you a better man. It just wears you out."

He rolls his eyes, but he hits the button on the morphine pump. "Are you happy now?"

"Do you feel better?"

He did, the pain beginning to recede. She talks a bit more about her mission, and about the botanist who really was an absent-minded professor. Lorne drifts away listening to her, his comments growing quieter and slower until he falls asleep.

The next day, Lorne is told Laura's team is off-world when he asks about her. It's just as well, he feels worn out, grimy, unfit for visitors. His stubble is growing into a beard and his hair is lank. When Lam comes in on her morning rounds, he asks if he can have a shower and a shave.

"There's no reason you can't," she says. "I'll let Mike know. I'm putting you on oral painkillers and we'll get that catheter out. You're off the tether."

"Great. I'll be good, I promise." The thought of relative freedom makes him giddy. The sensation lasts for as long as it takes Mike to help him out of the hospital gown. It's the first time Lorne has seen himself since his capture. His torso is a mass of discolored bruises ranging from dark purple to a sickly yellow-green, there are scabs over his ribs and on his body from the stun stick burns. He's gone from being fit and muscular to a man who looks like he's half-starved. The bruises disappear below the waist of his pajamas, and his thighs are sporting their own impressive sets of discoloration. It brings back what he had gone through in an overwhelming wave of panic and fear. He had been hurt. He had been tortured. Stripped of everything; pride, strength, courage ...

"Sir, are you all right?"

He was so far from all right that the distance can't be measured. He looks away from his reflection, shakes off the chill of memory. "Yeah, just blinded by the technicolor display."

Mike doesn't crack a smile. He wraps a towel around Lorne's body. "I set up a shower stool for you, sir. How's the water feel?"

"Good." Lorne eases down on the stool. "I ... uh. I'll take it from here, Sergeant."

"I'll be just outside the door."

Evan lets the water stream down. It's hot enough to be steamy, but not hot enough to burn. It eases his muscles, washes away some of the pain. The sting of soap on his wounds feels like a purification. He squeezes shampoo into his palm and washes his hair, wincing when his fingers find the knot on the back of his head. The suds slip through his fingers, down his arms. When they hit the tile floor, they are colored a pale rust from the blood in his hair. He leans his head against the tile walls of the shower stall. He feels dizzy. "Sanchez," he calls in the sergeant. "I'm finished."

Mike appears, towel in hand. He's warmed it, and it feels like heaven to Lorne. There are sweatpants and a t-shirt hanging on the door. His own clothes. Mike holds out an electric razor. Lorne looks at him gratefully. "God, yes!" and is relieved that he doesn't have to deal with anything with a sharp edge.

He dresses with minimal help. When Mike brings in the wheelchair, Lorne waves it off. "I can walk the ten feet to my bed."

"Yes, sir."

It hurts, and it's exhausting, but worth it. There is a small white pill and a cup of water on his table. He recognizes it. Vicodin. He takes it and lays back on the pillows. It works. Not as fast as the morphine, but it smooths the edge of pain. He closes his eyes and sleeps.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

_The pain is intense, beyond anything he has ever felt, anything he has imagined. His hands are bound to the arms of the weapons chair. It feels like lightning is arcing from the chair into his palms. He is struggling, but he is tied too tightly to move._

_"Fire the drones, Colonel."_

_"No!"_

_"Why not fire them? That world means nothing to you. Those people mean nothing to you. You proved that when you let us take Aris Molas and kill him."_

_"I didn't --"_

_"You sat there and let us walk away with him." The interrogator bent close. "You saw his face. It took months to do that to him. He was weak. A man like you? I could make it last years for you," He breath is hot and foul on Lorne's cheek. His hand trails down his throat and rests on the notch of his collar bone. "And so much more ..."_

_Lorne's hands jerk on the controls and with a banshee scream, a stream of drones is released._

_The Varashi starts laughing in triumph. He holds a stun stick to Lorne's carotid. "I have one thing to tell you before you die. "I lied. You have just annihilated Atlantis. The city, and all your people in it are dead."_

_"NO!" Lorne screams and ..._

"Colonel Lorne! Colonel, wake up. You're safe, you're all right. Wake up. Open your eyes. You're safe. Atlantis is safe. Wake up."

 _Wake up. Atlantis is safe._ Lorne's eyes open and he is gasping for air, his heart pounding so fast that he thinks he is dying as he had been in his dream. "No, no, it's not safe. I destroyed it." He looks at his shaking hands, feels the cold sweat of fear on his skin. "I should go back ..."

"Shh ... no. It's safe." Lam is not comfortable with emotion, she doesn't know how to ease the man trembling in her arms. "Shh ... I promise. Atlantis is safe. Colonel Lorne," her voice sharpens. "Wake up."

His eyes clear slowly, but his heart is still pounding. He focuses on her and takes a deep breath. "I was dreaming."

"Yes, you were. Anna --"

The nurse hands Dr. Lam a hypodermic. Lorne really doesn't want more drugs, but he isn't strong enough to refuse. He feels a needle stick and his heart slows. He sinks back on the pillows. "Atlantis. I --"

"Atlantis is secure. You didn't break, you didn't compromise the city. You were dreaming."

Reality is returning and Evan wishes that he had some of Teyla's tea. He doesn't need drugs. He needs the familiarity of friendship, the feel of his fingers wrapped around a warm mug, He wants his friends around him, not well-intentioned strangers. He doesn't think Lam would understand.

"Will you sleep now?" Lam asks.

"Yes," he sighs. Maybe. He has a childhood history of sleepwalking and night-terrors. He doubts it's in his medical file. Everybody on Atlantis seems to suffer from sleep disorders and insomnia. He's always considered himself fairly lucky in that department. His luck seems to have run out. He dozes, but doesn't really sleep. He watches the clock, hears the gate alarms and the medical staff whispering quietly to other patients.

Finally, the lights begin to come up, mimicking sunrise, and breakfast arrives. Eggs, ersatz bacon, coffee and a high protein, high calorie drink that makes him grimace. He drinks it; having seen his body in the mirror he needs all the help he can get.

He's dozing over a mining engineering journal when an attractive woman with dark hair worn in improbable pigtails and an SG team uniform looks in on him. She bounces over and perches on his chair. "Hello, that looks like an exceedingly boring publication."

"Umm, yeah. It is, actually."

"I should introduce myself. I'm Vala, Vala Mal Doran. Colonel Carter said I should look in on you."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. She said I was to play Florence Nightingale and mop your fevered brow." She looks at her long, elegant fingers. "Frankly, I'm not a very good nurse."

Lorne's eyebrow slants up. "Then it's a good thing I don't have a fever."

Vala peers at his magazine. "Mining? Isn't that an odd thing for a pilot to be reading?"

"I have a degree in it."

"Why?"

"Because the Air Force Academy didn't think Art was a suitable plan of study."

"Well, that's rather narrow-minded of them."

"That's what I said!" Evan can't help grinning at her. She's pretty and amusing, and judging from her quick, bright eyes, she's also very, very smart. "Could you do me a favor?" he asks.

"Of course -- well, if I can, unless you're planning some sort of escape, though you shouldn't if you're as ill as Sam says you are."

"I''m fine," he argues, a bit peeved at Sam Carter. "But since it looks like I'm going to be stuck here for a while, could you get me a sketch pad and some pencils?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

"Thank you."

"You're very polite, aren't you?"

He laughs, then winces as his muscles tug painfully. His morning dose of painkillers is wearing off and he is suddenly weary. It must show because Vala uncoils herself from the chair. "I'd better go before Colonel Carter chastises me for wearing you out."

"I'm fine." He's starting to sound anything but fine.

Vala looks at him, suddenly serious. "It will get better. The best people in several galaxies are looking after you."

He knows that. There is an expression in Vala's pretty eyes that tells him that she has suffered, too. He looks down at the magazine in his lap, as if that's an adequate defense against her concern.

To his shock, Vala kisses his cheek. "I'll be back with paper and pencils if you promise to take your medicine and go to sleep."

"Dr. Lam made you say that," he says, mustering up a faint smile.

"No. It just seems like you need to be reminded." She ducks out the door. Evan closes his eyes. He doesn't expect to sleep, but he does. When he wakes up, the magazine is gone and in its place are a sketch pad and pencils.

He draws almost by instinct. Inspired by flight, he sketches a jet fighter, a hawk, a screaming eagle. He wants to draw Atlantis, but decides that's skirting too close to classified information. He thinks of Vala, and draws a small, delicate profile of her sitting in his chair.

His pencil strokes slow and he drifts to sleep, the pencil slipping from his fingers. Dr. Lam looks in on him. She comes inside and picks up the paper. His drawings make her smile. She stands there for a moment. He is still pale and drawn, pain evident at the corners of his eyes, in the set line on his mouth. At least he is sleeping peacefully. She takes the pencil and paper and puts them aside before she smoothes the covers over his body.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Physical therapy is more like torture than he's like to admit. The pain is intense even though the therapist does his best not to hurt him. Too much has been torn and broken inside and remains unhealed. When he starts throwing up the little food he's been able to eat, the therapist calls a halt to the session.

"You're not ready for this," he says.

"I can do it," Evan gasps, but he can't.

The therapist eases him onto a bed. "We'll work on something different." He leaves the treatment area and returns with a machine that has leads trailing from it. "This machine is designed to stimulate your muscles electronically. No stress, just lie back and let it do the work."

Lorne looks at it, and fear lances through him. He can't do this. He just _can't_. Memories of his torture flood him. He backs away, holds up his hand. "No. No, please, don't do that. Please ..." He hears himself begging, hears the panic in his voice. His back hits the wall and he slides down to the floor, pain and fear enveloping him, smothering him. If he had a gun, he'd be pointing it at the therapist. Instead, he snatches up a weight bar, brandishing it like a weapon. "Get away from me. Don't come any closer ..."

The man looks at him like he's a nut-job. He pushes a panic button and without warning, two marines with P-90s burst through the door, pointing their guns at Lorne. He drops the bar to the floor with a clang and tips to the side, curling in on himself, panting and shivering.

One of the marines looks at the therapist. "Man, are you crazy? You called a general alarm for this?" He puts down his gun and kneels next to Lorne. "Get Dr. Lam," he orders the other marine. He puts a hand on Lorne's shoulder. "Easy, sir. Just take it easy. Nobody's doing anything to you. I'm standing watch."

"You know him?" The therapist asks. He's looking both scared and ashamed.

"Yeah. I've served with him. He's a hero. You treat him like one, you hear?"

The therapist, who is new to the Stargate program and more than a little skittish, nods. "They told me if I feel threatened to call for help."

The marine looks at Lorne, shaking beneath his touch, to the therapist. "This isn't that kind of threat," he sighs. He rises when Lam comes through the door with Mike in tow. He helps them lift Lorne to a gurney, and stays with them as they wheel him back to his room.

"Thank you, sergeant," Lam says. "That was --"

"Ma'am, that was what we call a FUBAR," his grin fades quickly. "I served with Colonel Lorne on Atlantis. He saved my life more than once. I think he needs somebody to save his."

Lam nods. "I will." She administers a sedative, and stands looking down at her patient. She isn't sure what to do. The medical stuff is easy; the psychological trauma is more difficult than she ever imagined. Maybe that's what came of doing what the SGC expected of its people. She waits until she is sure Lorne's vital signs are stable. She's been thinking about this for a few days, and there's no time like the present to act.

She knocks on her father's door. It's open, and he looks up, pleasure lighting his face. "Carolyn! Come in."

"Thank you, sir."

Hank Landry's brows bristle. "Either you've been talking to your mother or this is an official visit."

"Official visit."

"What can I do for you?" He sets aside everything and focuses on her. "Is this about a patient?"

She takes a breath. "Yes. It's Colonel Lorne."

"I heard about the panic button incident. I hope the therapist understands the parameters more clearly."

"He is back under supervision for a few weeks."

"That's not why you're here."

"No." She looks down at her fingers and composes her thoughts. "I'd like Colonel Lorne to be transferred to the medical facility at the Peterson. I think being here is hampering his recovery. I know he can hear the gate klaxon because he looks like he should be running to the gate room whenever it sounds. It's not exactly relaxing. And then there's all that Ancient tech around here. I know he's very sensitive to it. I can't even speculate what effect that has on his recovery. At Peterson, he'll get the medical support he needs, therapy outside this environment, and a chance for something more _normal_. Walks in the sun, fresh air, green grass ... I think he needs that."

"He has access to some highly classified information ..."

"He's not going to spill secrets to the Ori." She is sounds exasperated, tired. "He didn't talk when he was being tortured. He's not going to talk to anybody about Atlantis. He's not crazy. He's wounded and hurting. He needs help, and I can't give it to him here."

"He gets to you, doesn't he?"

"They all do, but some more than others," she admits. "So, will you write out the orders?"

"Yes." He buzzes Walter and rattles off a form number. A moment later, Walter looks in and hands it to him, vanishing as quietly as he had entered. Landry scribbles out a few lines and passes the paper to her. "All you have to do is sign-off and make sure he's ready for outpatient treatment."

"Thank you, sir." She sees the pained look on his face at her formality. "Dad, how would you like to come to dinner next week? Say, Tuesday?"

"I could take you out to dinner."

"I can cook, you know. Mom taught me."

"It's a date."

"It's dinner with me, Dad. Just be comfortable, okay?" She rises and leaves with a smile, which makes his day much brighter.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Lorne beats back the fog of drugs and pain that are holding him in dark dreams and fights his way back to consciousness. His side feels like he's been kicked by a mule and his head aches fiercely. He is afraid to open his eyes, certain that he will be back in the cell being tortured. He hides his eyes and shudders. For a moment he can taste his own blood, smell the iron and feel the pain.

"Colonel Lorne?" A gentle hand on his shoulder, a quiet voice. They don't fit with his memories. "Colonel, you can open your eyes. You're at Stargate Command. You're safe. Nobody will hurt you, I promise."

His breath quivers in his throat. He doesn't know if he can believe the voice. He hears another voice speaking, "I'm sorry, this isn't a good time, Colonel Carter. He's had a rough time of it today."

He shivers. He wants to, but he can't speak. He flings out a hand and feels somebody take it ... a smaller hand than his, but strong and warm. _Don't go_ , he tries to form the words. They come out in a faint breath, not even intelligible.

"May I just sit here with him?"

"Of course, but he's heavily sedated. I doubt he'll wake up."

"I don't mind." The hand stays curled around his. He clings to that comfort and stops fighting the drugs. When he wakes the second time, he's still in pain, but he's lucid. Sam Carter is sitting by the bed reading. He doesn't know why she is there, but he is grateful that she is. At the same time, he isn't sure how to talk to her -- she was his commanding officer for nearly a year. He stays silent, watching her until she looks up and sees that he is awake.

"Feeling better?" she asks and then shakes her head. "Sorry, dumb question."

"Everything hurts, but other than that, I'm good."

"You're a terrible liar, Evan."

His name sounds odd coming from her, but what else would she call him? "I try, ma'am."

Sam rolls her eyes. "Sam, please. I'm not your CO any more. You're a Colonel, now."

"Lieutenant Colonel," he corrects her.

She holds out a thick envelope and a small box. "Normally, General Landry would do this, but I asked if I could usurp him this once. She takes a breath. "The President of The United States, acting upon the recommendation of the Secretary of he Air Force, has placed special trust and confidence in the patriotism, integrity, and abilities of Lieutenant Colonel Evan Lorne. In view of these special qualities, and his demonstrated potential to serve in the higher grade, Lieutenant Colonel Evan Lorne is promoted to the grade of Colonel, United States Air Force, effective immediately by order of the Secretary of the Air Force." She pins the eagle insignia on his t-shirt, which makes him blush. "Of course, you'll have the full ceremony when you get out of here, but the General and I agree that you've earned this right now."

He pulls out the neck of his t-shirt and looks down at the eagle insignia. It feels surreal. "Thank you. I don't know what else to say."

"You don't have to say anything. Just get well." She gives his hand a squeeze. "I've got to go off-world for a few weeks, but I'll be back for McKay's wedding, so you'd better be ready to dance with me."

"Keep it to a slow shuffle and I might manage," he says.

"I'll take whatever I can get, otherwise I'll have to dance with Cam." She rolls her eyes, her impression of Cam Mitchell's dancing skills making him hide his smile behind his hand. She rises, gives him an impulsive kiss on the forehead. "Congratulations, Colonel."

After she leaves, Evan removes the pin and looks at it in his palm. He doesn't feel as if he deserves the promotion. He puts it in the box and sets it on the beside cabinet. His head hurts, his body hurts, and he closes his eyes and waits for the nurse to come with his medication.

**Part 3**

Cadman isn't sure what she had expected when she returned to the SGC. Best case scenario would have been to learn that Evan had been discharged and was doing outpatient PT at Peterson. She's not surprised, however, that he is still in the infirmary given the severity of his injuries. However, she didn't expect that he would look like he does; fragile and in pain. He's sleeping, his good hand clutching the blankets close to his face. What she can see of him is thin, tense. She doesn't know what to do even though she knows why he is this way.

The small box on the bedside cabinet catches her eye. She opens it and sees the silver wings. "Oh," she says is soft surprise, and wonders if he feels the bird is a reward or a burden. Next to it is a smaller box. A Purple Heart. He has more than one: every one of them brought with his blood. "Oh, Evan," she sighs. She touches the backs of her fingers to his cheek, then snatches them away quickly when she hears the curtain being pulled aside. Caroyn Lam comes to his bedside. She looks as tired as Lorne.

Laura waits while she takes his vital signs and makes a few notations on her data pad. She glances up at Laura. "Welcome back, Captain Cadman." Lam's forehead is creased with worry and Laura asks, not expecting an answer, "Is something wrong?"

"It's not so much what is wrong, as how little is right." Lam folds her stethoscope and looks down at Evan, as if she is missing a clue somewhere.

"Can I talk to you about Colonel Lorne?" Laura asks.

"I can't divulge details of his condition."

"I know that, but he's my best friend, and I need to talk to _somebody_ about him, about what he - he's been through."

"Okay. Let's get some coffee. The mess should be fairly quiet about now."

Lam is right. Only one or two tables are occupied. Cadman picks a table in a corner where it's unlikely that anybody will sit within hearing distance. Lam takes a sip of coffee and grimaces. "For a place that runs on caffeine and adrenaline you'd think they'd know how to brew a decent cup of coffee."

"It's better than what we get on Atlantis," Laura smiles, and then sobers. "What can you tell me about Ev -- Colonel Lorne's condition?"

"I can tell you that his progress is slow, but there is no way the body can repair itself as quickly as I wish it could." She stirs some milk into her coffee and watches the swirls. "When a person suffers a serious trauma all their resources go into healing the physical body. Eventually, the mind starts dealing with the emotional trauma ... it's not something that can be stopped. A person like the Colonel, with responsibilities and lives to protect, feels the emotional trauma as strongly as the physical injuries. Unfortunately, his body isn't able to carry that emotion, so it breaks down." She stops, sees the tears in Cadman's eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make it sound so ... so hopeless."

"He will get better," Laura said. "I know him."

"Yes, I think he will." Lam. "How about you?"

"Me?" Laura is startled. "I wasn't hurt."

"There is more than one kind of trauma. Dr. Candow is an excellent therapist. She's worked with gate teams before."

"I know." She doesn't look like she will take the advice. "What happens next?"

"I hope to be able to transfer Colonel Lorne to Peterson for physical therapy in a few days."

Laura looks doubtful. "Peterson is outpatient."

"Yes." She looks at Cadman. "He needs a place to stay, and somebody to take care of him. Can you suggest anybody? He has a sister listed as his NOK."

Laura shakes her head. "She lives in San Francisco, and she just had a baby. Plus, her house is in one of those big old Victorians with a lot of stairs."

"You?"

"My place is a one-bedroom, third floor walk-up." She thinks for a moment. "But I know somebody who might be able to help."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
When Lorne wakes the next morning, he has little memory of the day before; though he feels a vague shame for what he does remember. Physically, he feels much better, his pain receding to a dull ache that only rouses when he moves awkwardly. He raises the head of his bed and his eyes light on the box. That much, he remembered with perfect clarity. Sam's quiet voice reading the formal words, pinning the eagle insignia on him. Him, a bird colonel. How about that? The reality hasn't quite sunk in, but it does make him feel both unsettled and proud.

Breakfast is toast, scrambled eggs, juice and the usual bad coffee. Between the unappetizing food and the painkillers, he manages to eat half of it. He knows he should eat more, but his stomach is rebellious and he isn't willing to push it. He wants fresh air and sun today. He wants to take his sketch pad and pencils outside. He's fighting for normalcy in a place where normal isn't in anybody's job description.

When Mike takes him topside, Lorne convinces him that he'll be fine for an hour on his own. "Where am I gonna go?" he asks, gesturing at the enclosed main gate. "Just wheel me over to the pines and I'll sit there and sketch, okay?"

"Dr. Lam --"

"Sergeant, I swear I will not try to get off the base, escape to a bar or steal an F-302, so just let me sit here and draw, okay? I'll tell Dr. Lam I gave you an order."

Mike grins like he knows that in the infirmary, he outranks Lorne in matters of health. The day is warm and sunny, there is no chill in the wind, and he knows Lorne's need for time spent away from the claustrophobic confines of the infirmary and the mountain is the best medicine he could administer. "Yes, sir." He salutes and walks away.

Evan takes a deep breath and tilts his face to the sun. The pine needles make a delicate screen of shadows without stealing the warmth. He gets out his sketch pad and begins to draw. He's lost in his work when a darker shadow falls across his paper.

Dr. Lam is standing over him, her arms crossed. He knows that look. He sighs. "Okay. I'm busted. It's not Mike's fault, really."

"I ran into him about an hour ago. Colonel, if I thought you would do yourself any harm, you would have been back inside so fast your head would spin." She takes hold of his chair and wheels him over to a wooden bench. She sits down and looks at him intently. "You're much better today."

" _Much_ might be a bit of an exaggeration, but, yeah. I feel better."

"I'm going to recommend that you be released in a few days. Your latest x-rays show that your hip is healing well. As for the soft tissue damage, that will take more time. It won't be easy, but as those muscles heal, you'll need to build up your strength again."

"In other words, it will hurt. A lot."

"Yes, but there are ways to manage pain."

"I'll be in SOQ?" he asks, thinking of the bleak and impersonal quarters kept for short term stays.

"No. Due to your security clearances and your physical needs, we're making other arrangements for you."

It doesn't sound promising to Lorne, but he figures he doesn't have a choice. "Thanks, doc."

She rises briskly. "You have another thirty minutes before PT. Mike will come and get you."

"Great." He thinks about the disastrous session yesterday. His apprehension must show on his face because Lam tells him that this one will be different. He decides to reserve judgment until after the session is over.

It turns out that Lam is right. His new therapist is a young woman with strong, gentle hands. She tells him that therapy isn't meant to be an endurance test, and if it hurts beyond reason, to tell her for God's sake, because pain should be a reminder that damage has been done, not the result of further damage.

It does hurt, but she backs off when he starts getting pale, and finishes with a soothing massage that lulls him into a state of near catatonia. He's back in his own room, covered with a warmed blanket and half-asleep, when the door opens.

"So, it's Colonel Lorne now," Cam Mitchell comes in. "Congratulations, Evan."

"Hey, Cam." He doesn't really want to move, but he raises his bed. "Sorry, I'm a little out of it."

"PT will do that to you." Mitchell drags a chair over and straddles it before he continues speaking. "Seriously, how are you?"

"The truth? Not so good."

"Yeah, I heard."

"I'll be out of here in a week. Off to Peterson for more therapy. I'll be sleeping in the streets, apparently, since they don't know where to put me."

"That's kind of why I'm here. You know John and I brought a house? With Alex and all his kid stuff, the apartment was getting cramped."

Alex is Sheppard's biological son, artificially conceived by a woman who had been taken by the Wraith. It was just more weird Pegasus shit that had come back to haunt them. But Alex is a good kid and Evan has always liked children. After John retired from active duty, he and Cam had decided to share Cam's apartment, since Mitchell was off-world most of the time and John and Alex needed a place to stay. The arrangement had worked out well.

"Congratulations. A house. That's pretty permanent."

Cam shrugs off the details. "We've got a spare room on the first floor. It has its own bathroom with a shower, and it's accessible. I'm just saying you're welcome to stay with us for as long as you need to, or want to."

"How does John feel about that?"

Another shrug. "He's on board with the plan. Listen, Ev. You're our friend and we want to do this for you, okay? It's no big deal. What do you think?"

It is a big deal to Evan, however. "I think we need a few days. Cam, this isn't me bunking with you guys while I'm waiting for an assignment or reporting at SGC. It's a lot more involved than that."

Cam looks at him with steady blue eyes. "It is more involved because you're _family_. You can take a few days to think about it, but our answer won't change." He sees the box on the table and opens it. "That's great, Evan. You've earned it and more."

"It's still kind of surreal."

"You know where to reach me with your answer, right?"

"It's on my speed dial."

Cam pats his leg, gently, and leaves. Evan thinks about his offer. He thinks about how much of a burden he could be. He knows what he wants his answer to be, but he isn't willing to commit without a few more days to recover. Maybe then ...

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Cam finds John grading papers at the kitchen table while Alex is drawing pictures that vaguely resemble kittens. They have identical expressions of concentration; hair standing up in cowlicks, lower lip caught between their teeth. He wonders if it's mimicry or genetics. Cam watches fondly for a moment. "Hey," he says. "I brought pizza home. Who's ready for dinner?"

"Me!"Alex waves his hand like he's in class. "I drew kittens."

Cam leans over for a closer look. "So I see." He ruffles Alex's hair and turns to John. "You about ready to set those papers aside?"

John holds up five fingers and keeps on grading while Cam puts one of the smaller pieces of pizza on a plate for Alex. True to his word, five minutes later, the papers are put away. John looks tired, a bit frazzled.

"Rough day?" Cam asks.

"I thought riding herd on the Atlantis military was tough until I stood up in front of a class." He sighs. "Have we got beer?"

Cam is one step ahead of him. He sets two bottles on the table. "Hey, Alex, do you want more pizza?"

"Please ... in the fam'ly room?"

They usually eat at the kitchen table. Eating in the family room is a rare treat, but tonight, Cam needs to talk to John about Evan. "Sure sport. Just for tonight, okay?" He hands Alex a towel. "Keep the pizza on the plate or your face, not on the rug."

"'Kay." Alex slides off his chair. "You come too?"

"Later. We'll watch cartoons. Scoot." Cam watches Alex as he heads out of the kitchen, waiting until he's out of earshot until he speaks. "I saw Evan today. I thought we should know what we're getting into."

John raises a brow. "Cadman kind of put us on the spot -- not that I would have refused." He plucks at a piece of pepperoni. "How is he?"

"Not good. He looks ... God, John. He 's _wrecked_. He's in pain. He looks like he hasn't eaten in weeks, he's ... haunted, and he's trying like hell not to let it show."

John thinks about Pegasus and how it wears you down being on constant alert. He's been where Lorne has been; captured, tortured, bent from mind-tricks and fear. He _knows_ that intimately. He was never as damaged as Lorne, however. Bringing him into a house with a child ... John has his concerns for them both.

"They still want to release him?"

Cam takes a swallow of beer, thinking of Lorne. "Dr. Lam thinks being in SGC isn't good for him. I think she's right. There really isn't anyplace to get away from the gate alarms or the Ancient relics ... you know how that is."

John nods. Even now, when he's at the SGC as a consultant on Ancient tech, he's unsettled by both the gate and the low hum of awareness that is part of having the ATA gene. He's left the compound with a migraine more times than he can count. Still ... "What about Alex?" he asks.

"What?" Cam blinks at John, uncomprehending for an instant before he understands. "You're afraid Lorne will hurt Alex? Geez, John ... we're talking about Evan, here."

"I _know_! But I've seen Lorne --" He breaks off, because Lorne wasn't responsible for alien possessions, or for sleepwalking. "I don't want either of them hurt," he says softly.

"I think you should pay Evan a visit. See how he is, and then we'll talk. We've got at least a week before Lam will discharge him."

"Okay. I'll go tomorrow after class -- If I'm still alive." He grins at Cam. "We'd better enjoy Alex while we can, because once he hits thirteen, all bets are off!"

Cam laughs and gathers up their plates. "Why don't we go watch some cartoons with him while he's still three?"

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
The little blue pills on his bed table are mocking him, daring him like the cakes in Alice in Wonderland. "Eat Me" and "Drink Me." These are saying, "Take Me for sleep." He reaches out with a trembling hand, picks one up and then sets it down.

"They don't bite," Dr. Lam says from the doorway.

"Don't you ever go home?" Lorne asks, trying not to sound annoyed, which he is.

"Sometimes I even get to sleep. Unlike you." She picks up the pills. "These are fairly mild. They'll take the edge off, let you relax so you can sleep."

"Sleep is overrated," Lorne sighs. "I slept this afternoon."

"You dozed. That's not sleeping." She sighs. "You need the sleep, Colonel Lorne."

He knows the question is on the tip of her tongue. He can't meet her eyes. Maybe he could bargain. "I'll take one." He yields against his better judgement. Dr. Lam looks vaguely satisfied, but not happy with his solution. She sighs, watches him take the one pill, and leaves.

The pill is making him a little fuzzy around the edges, like he's had one too many beers. That's okay, he decides. A little buzz is good. He lets himself float on the edge of sleep, drowsing as the sounds of the infirmary fade to a soft whispery hum ...

_The klaxon of the gate coming to life reverberates through Atlantis. Lorne is watching in horror as the view screens show a fleet of Wraith Hive ships heading towards the city. Mr. Woolsey is looking at him in a panic._

_"You have to destroy the city. You're the only one. Get to the chair room." He pushes Lorne towards a transport. "You're Earth's last hope, Colonel. If the Wraith capture Atlantis, they will reach Earth!"_

_Lorne runs towards the transport. The corridors are full of refugees from other worlds the Wraith have destroyed. They look at him with fear, because they know what he has to do. He pushes through and the transporter carries him to the tower where the weapons platform is located. He's inside. The pale blue light brightens. The chair is waiting for him. Lorne's feet feel like their weighted with lead boots. He tries to move and can't._

_Woolsey shoves him forward. "Get in the chair. You have to get in the chair! We can't let the Wraith have the city. We have to destroy it."_

_Lorne can't move. He's frozen in place. He stretches out a hand and pain assails him. The chair is surrounded by a shield. Every touch is like a razor pulling across his skin. "I can't do this. I can't kill innocent people. Give them time to evacuate."_

_"There is no time." Woolsey waves to the marines who seize Lorne and force him into the chair. They hold his hands on the control pads and fire arcs from the chair into his palms. "Do it, Colonel. You're the only one!"_

Lorne wakes up shouting. He is kneeling on the floor by his bed, his hands spread out as if they were on the control panels of the Ancient chair. He curls his fingers into the blanket and sobs out his relief that it was just a dream. Ashamed of his weakness and his fear, he manages to pull himself up and crawl back into bed. The pain nearly makes him pass out, but he welcomes it because it is real, tangible, not part of the dream. His hand is shaking so hard that he slops water onto his covers. The cold is real. The room is real. Atlantis is still floating like a flower on the oceans in the Pegasus Galaxy. He repeats that like a litany until the tremors stop. Evan reaches for his sketch pad. He won't sleep again until it's nearly dawn.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Evan is sitting on one of the few benches SGC provides for staff who want to escape for some fresh air during the day. There is an aluminum walker, folded flat and propped up next to him. He's bent over a pad of paper, drawing. He's wearing dark scrub pants and a long-sleeved black t-shirt, which are doing nothing to disguise how thin he's gotten since Sheppard last saw him. At a distance he looks pale, bled out, and exhausted. John feels a pang of guilt that he ever thought Lorne would hurt Alex. He doesn't look like he could hurt a fly in his current state.

Still, John approaches him cautiously, making sure his boots crunch on the gravel as he walks. He knows that Lorne can be lethal, it's in their training. Being vulnerable brings those instincts to the fore. John doesn't even try to muffle his approach. Lorne looks up from his sketching, his brows level, his mouth drawn a little too taut to fool John. He stands in front of the bench, trying not to block the sun and its needed warmth.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," Lorne says.

John sticks his hands in his jacket pockets. It's a worn tweed blazer that looks like something a college professor would wear, about as far away from his military days as he can get. "I should have come sooner," he admits.

"See, still not insane," Lorne's jest falls flat. He sighs. "Cam was by the other day."

"I know."

"Listen, if you don't want me there, that's fine. I'll survive in SOQs until I'm finished with therapy."

"I came by to tell you that you're welcome to stay with us if you can put up with the whiny, demanding kid who used to be your CO."

Lorne grins. "So, Alex is the grown-up?"

"Sometimes I think he is." John sits down next to Evan. "I'm really sorry about what happened out there. I know ... I kind of know ... what you went through. It can rip you up inside."

"I'm fine," Evan objects.

John can see that he isn't. Lorne has pushed up the sleeve of his t-shirt and John can see the fading bruises, the abrasions. His fingers are splinted, and those are just the damage he can see. He isn't sure he wants to know what else is beneath the t-shirt. "Really?" John lifts his brow and Lorne knows he's been caught in a lie.

His eyes take on the thousand yard stare John knows too well. "You know what's the worst? Being dependent. "Little things like cutting up food and tying shoes. Shaving. Using a computer. I can hardly take a piss without somebody there with me because it hurts so much I might keel over. I wear scrubs or sweats because I can dress myself that way, and everything else hurts ... again. I have to use a fucking walker like I'm a hundred years old because I can't put full weight on my left leg! " Anger breaks through and he strikes at the walker, sending it clattering to the ground.

"Hey!" John catches his good hand. "Easy, there. You'll give yourself a new set of bruises, which you need like a hole in the head."

Lorne looks stricken. He draws away from John, struggles to master his emotions as if John were still his CO. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I didn't sleep very well last night -- not that I was wandering the corridors or anything like that."

John knows what he means, and hates that he has to consider those instances in his decision."You weren't responsible for that, either."

"They give me sleeping pills. I took one last night to humor Dr. Lam. It was a mistake."

"Tell her to stop forcing them on you. She'll listen. C'mon, let's go in. That wind is getting cold." It isn't but Lorne is shivering. John retrieves the walker and opens it. He pretends to look at the mountains in the distance as Lorne rises painfully. His knees start wobbling and John steadies him until he's upright. Lorne hunches over the walker, waiting for the pain to subside. They start a slow progress towards the entrance. Before they go in, John pauses."You never gave me your answer. Will you stay with us? We've got room, and you'd be welcome."

Evan draws a breath. "I'd like that. Thank you."

"Good. We'll see you in a few days." Lorne doesn't release his grip on the walker. He turns away from John. A corpsman comes up to Lorne with a wheelchair. Even with assistance it's painful to watch. John wonders if they're doing Lorne any favors by taking him in when he's still so fragile. He wonders how the hell they'll manage his care -- which he obviously needs -- and how Alex will react. He remembers Lorne from Atlantis, but not like this. If it freaks John out, how will it affect Alex? For a moment, he's angry at Cadman for asking them to do this, angry at Cam for agreeing, angry at himself for having doubts.

His phone rings. Cam. He lets it go to voicemail and drives home.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

John closes the back door. The house is quiet. "Cam?"

"In the den," Cam calls out. John tosses his keys on the kitchen counter. Cam is sitting in the den He's unpacking the last of the books and breaking down the boxes. "Umm, I could use some help here."

"Where's Alex?"

"Mrs. Rudolph is watching him. I thought we could get this place cleared out and set up for Evan."

John picks up a stack of mathematical texts and puts them on the built-in bookcases. They work in silence for a while before John speaks. "I went to see him."

"I figured that was why you're late." Cam stands up and stretches out his back. "How is he?"

"In a lot of pain. Trying to pretend he's not." John sighs, picks up another stack of books. He doesn't care if they're in any particular order so he just shelves them. "He's angry, hurting. Exhausted."

Cam takes a deep breath. "I know. I've been where he is physically. Everything is a struggle. Strangers are always invading your personal space, doing incredibly intimate things to you. I threw a breakfast tray at a corpsman and called him a fucking idiot for no real reason other than I didn't want another person to touch me. What Evan's going through -- it's not nice, it's not pleasant. Ninety-five percent of the time you're grateful to be alive, but that five percent has to come out at some point or you're just not human."

"Will a week make that much difference?"

"He's strong. He'll heal quickly."   
"I hope you're right. Because from what I saw today, he needs a lot more care than we can give him."

"They won't release him if he's not ready." When he sees John's wry skepticism, he lets out a puff of breath. "We'll have to wait and see."

They unpack the shelve the rest of the books in near silence until they hear Mrs. Rudolph's voice telling Alex to take off his muddy shoes. Alex runs into the den and tackles John around the knees. "Daddy!"

John bends down and raises Alex in his arms. "Hey, sport. Were you a good boy for Mrs. Rudolph?"

"Yes." He lays his soft, cool cheek against John's. "Can I have a cookie?" he whispers into John's ear.

"Sure." His eyes meet Cam's over Alex's spiky hair, so much like his own. "I'm unpacking books. Why don't you ask Cam?" He sets Alex down and smiles when he runs at Cam and is caught and flung up into the air.

"Do you want a cookie? Or a _COOKIE!_ " Cam does a great imitation of Cookie Monster. He carries a giggling Alex into the kitchen.

John continues unpacking. He opens a box and realizes that these are his books from Atlantis. _War and Peace_ , a biography of Johnny Cash, a few graphic novels. Something flutters from between the pages. A photograph of him and Lorne in dress blues. Carson's funeral. They both look unutterably sad. John remembers the church in Scotland, standing next to Evan. He sets the picture on the desk. _No man left behind._ John doesn't take that commitment lightly, not then, not ever.

He goes into the kitchen where Cam and Alex are dunking Oreos in glasses of milk. He pours a glass for himself and joins them. He looks at Cam. "So, what do we have to do next?"

^*^*^*^*^*^

Cadman returns the next day. Lorne glances up from his laptop and she's there, looking tired and a little pale, but smiling. "Hi," she says. "You look ... not a whole lot better."

"Gee, thanks."

She suddenly realizes that maybe she should be a little more formal. "Sorry, sir."

He shakes his head. "I'm not on active duty and I'm not your CO, so at ease, Captain."

Her smile returns. "Okay. When are they letting you out of here?"

"In three days."

"Did you take Cam and John up on their offer?"

Evan's eyes narrow. "How did you know about that?" Realization dawns and he groans. "Tell me you didn't ask them?"

Caught, Laura capitulates. No use denying it. "Of course, I did. You needed a place to stay."

"So you played the guilt card on my friends?"

"It wasn't like that. Dr. Lam asked me if I knew anybody you could bunk with. I figured John and Cam are close, and they have the room. They're _friends_. I just thought you'd prefer that to being with strangers ... I'm sorry if I overstepped my bounds, sir."

She looks so contrite that Evan has to forgive her. What else can he do? "I just hope John and Cam don't regret it." He tips her chin with a finger. "You need to get some rest, Captain." Despite the formality, his voice is soft.

"Yes, sir. I'll be back later, if that's all right."

"I'm not going anywhere fast," he says.

She stands up and stretches. "I could sleep for twenty-four hours."

"Then go. Get some sleep."

She gives him a small, mock salute which makes him smile as she leaves. Two minutes later Mike shows up to walk him down to therapy. He opens the walker. "Ready to stroll, sir?"

"All the way?" Lorne is both alarmed and skeptical. "It's a long hallway."

"Nobody's gonna coddle you at Peterson, sir. I've heard their head therapist used to be a DI."

"Great." He pulls himself up from the wheelchair. He's getting tired of pain. The pills they give him keep it to a low simmer, but they make him tired and lethargic, so he doesn't take them before therapy. Whoever said pain builds character was an ignorant fuck, Lorne thinks as his dull aches spring to life like a tiger with claws.

Once he's steady on his feet, he starts the walk down to the therapy room. It's exhausting. Each session has become increasingly difficult to prepare him for the move to Peterson. By the end of his hour, he's shaking and pale, wrung out. He used to be able to run five miles like a walk in the park, now his body is betraying his will. Just when he thinks he will either keel over or puke, the worst is over and he is helped into a chair with wide arms.

"You'll be getting the splints off two of your fingers before you leave, so we can start working on your arm muscles now that the cast is off.

"I still can't hold anything."

"You don't have to." His therapist fastens a weighted Velcro cuff on his arm. "Now ... let's do some reps."

By the time he gets back to his room, his body is screaming with pain. He holds Mike off when he tries to help him back to bed. "I can do this," he gasps. "In a few days, I'll _have_ to do this."

"I thought you were staying with friends, sir?"

Lorne looks at him. "Just because they're my friends doesn't mean I expect them to be my caretakers. It's bad enough that I'm -- " He breaks off, shakes his head. The food service arrives with a tray of ... stuff. Maybe mashed potatoes and turkey. He pokes at it suspiciously.

"You need to eat, sir."

"I know." He thinks of the nearly raw goat he's eaten in Afghanistan, the kimchee that his Korean landlady fermented on her balcony, the culture in Pegasus that ate slime mold, which he'd managed to keep down. "I can deal with this."

"Yes, sir." Mike is grinning. "I'll get your meds, sir."

"Take your time, I'll just be enjoying this 'gormay' fare." He forces the food down, knowing that he needs it for strength. He knows how much weight he's lost and how weak he is.

John and Cam have given him a reason to keep healing, to build up his strength. He does his best, but halfway through the meal, he closes his eyes and falls asleep, the fork falling from his hands. Mike finds him there, lifts him from the wheelchair and settles him in bed. It's his job. Sometimes, it's more.

**Part 4**

Lorne wakes up from a confused dream. His body is stiff with pain and his head hurts. He forces himself upright and sees a carafe of water and a paper cup with his meds in it. He remembers now that he fell asleep. He hadn't even felt Mike move him from the wheelchair to the bed. He takes the pills and lies back down. He remembers dreaming about Atlantis, of the soothing hum of the city, the sound of the waves on the pier below his room, the way the sun rises and touches the city with light. The beauty is almost painful. The dream wasn't a nightmare, just one of those things that don't make much sense, like Alice falling down the rabbit hole.

He isn't going to sleep until the pain meds kick in, so he raises the bed and reaches for his sketch pad. He roughs in the contours of the city; deliberately making it look like a fantasy landscape rather than the city he knows. Anybody who's seen Atlantis will recognize the general outlines, but a civilian would see turrets and towers, and clouds forming over an ocean.

He doesn't draw spaceships, or stargates or aliens, just the city that has woven itself into his blood, immutably and perhaps forever. He wonders if it is the same for Sheppard. He wonders if others have the same degree of empathy, but doubts it. None of the people treated with the gene therapy seem to have the level of control that he and Sheppard possess.

For the first time since his capture, he feels the pull to return to Atlantis.


	2. Part 2

The next two days are exhausting. Lorne pushes himself to the limit with his therapy; tries to be as independent as possible so he won't be a burden on Cam and John, so he won't look like a frail ghost of himself to Alex. He isn't even sure Alex will remember him, but he doesn't want to frighten him, either.

He has this mental calendar running in him mind; setting goals and deadlines. His mother jokes that he was conceived with it since he was born on the day the doctor predicted. His standards for himself have always been high, and he's always reached them. He's never had an opponent other than the clock. This time he's facing an enemy with teeth and claws: pain, fear and his own weakness.

By the end of the second day, his therapist tells him that he's through; that if he continues like this, he'll set his recovery back, not move it forward. Angry, Lorne heaves himself out of the wheelchair and grabs for his walker. He's moving as fast as he can towards his room when Cam runs into him. Literally. They collide. Lorne, already unsteady, spins against the wall.

As the walker skids away, Cam grabs his shoulders. "Lorne, what the hell are you doing? Trying to kill yourself?"

The earth heaves beneath him and he is suddenly back in the interrogation chamber, pinned against the wall by his interrogator; his fist raised and threatening. Everything blurs and Evan throws his hands up to protect himself, to protect his abused body. "No!" he gasps, and without the support of the walker collapses to the floor. "No ... "

Cam, startled and alarmed, gentles his grip. He would call for a medic, but he's afraid that the hard sound of his voice would shatter an already broken man. "Easy, Ev. It's okay, buddy. You're safe. I have you. You're safe. He takes Lorne's face between his hands. "You can open your eyes, it's okay."

Evan blinks at him. "Cam?"

"That's right. We kind of ran into each other."

Evan's eyes are clearer now. "Yeah. Remind me to talk to you about that when I feel better."

Cam forces a smile. "Sure. Right after pigs fly."

"This is the SGC. Anything could happen. Help me up?"

"Maybe we should get a medic to check you out."

Evan shakes his head. "Nothing hurts worse than it did before. Get that walker, okay?"

Cam is doubtful, but he helps Evan to his feet, gets the walker and tries not to hover too obviously as they continue towards Evan's room. Once inside, Evan lowers himself to the wheelchair. Cam sees the way he's biting his lip, the draw of his mouth and the pallor on his face. "Are you sure you don't need somebody to check you out?"

Evan rolls his eyes. "No. Trust me, I want out of here too much to jeopardize my chances. I slid what? Three feet to the floor? I'm fine."

"Evan, I've kind of been where you are, physically. I know what it's like."

"Then trust me to know my limits, okay?"

Cam laughs. "If we knew our limits we wouldn't be in this crazy-ass place. So, just take it easy. Sheppard and I aren't going anywhere. The room is there for you when you're ready."

Evan looks vaguely doubtful. "Are you sure about this?"

"We'll manage. Cross that off your list." Cam is about to leave when Vala looks in.

"Hello, boys." She bats her eyes at Lorne and pulls a slightly wilted flower from behind her back. "They say you shouldn't visit a sick friend empty-handed."

Cam chokes back a laugh. "Didn't I see those on Dr. Lam's desk?"

"Birthday. She doesn't need all of them." She pops the bloom into a water carafe. "I'll get you fresh. So what's going on?" She sits on Lorne's bed. "You're looking better."

"You're the first person to say that," Evan says.

"I lie all the time. Except when I'm not." Vala tilts her head. "The last time I saw you, you were flat on your back, so you do look better now."

"Am I supposed to be reassured by that?" Evan asks Cam.

"I'd run with it," Cam says. "I'll be in touch. Be nice," he warns Vala as he leaves.

"I'm always nice. Don't listen to a thing Colonel Mitchell says about me. I'm a lovely person, really." She pauses. "I'm not lying about that."

"I never thought you were."

"You'll be leaving soon for Peterson, so I thought I'd say goodbye."

"Thank you."

"I suppose they'll give you a psych eval."

"Yes ..." Evan answers slowly, wondering if this is some kind of test they put Vala up to.

She leans forward. "I've passed them several times. Do you need some pointers?"

Lorne tries his best not to laugh because she is so damn serious about this. "Sure."

"Don't smile. Seriously. If you smile they'll think you're hiding something."

"That's it?"

"Well, I don't think you can distract them with a miniskirt and a low-cut blouse."

Lorne laughs then, the first full out laugh he's had since ... well, since forever. It hurts, and he clutches his ribs, but it feels so good that the pain doesn't really matter. "I'll remember that. Thanks, Vala."

She grins at him, then sobers. "Seriously, you'll be fine. I've learned from everybody on SG-1 that if you have a team of friends to hold you up, you can get through just about anything -- even the impending end of the world -- which is no small matter, I can tell you!" She is smiling again. "You must know that."

"Sometimes a little reminder helps. Thanks, Vala."

"You are most welcome." She slides off the bed and leans down to kiss him lightly. "For good luck," she says, noting the blush on his cheeks with some delight.

"Am I interrupting?" Laura looks in and smiles at Vala. "Should I leave you two alone?"

Vala puts a gentle hand on Evan's shoulder. "Not just yet. Remember what I said." She winks at Laura as she leaves.

"That was ... interesting," he says, still smiling.

"Don't let it go to your head. Vala flirts with every male who has a heartbeat. Not that you're not worth flirting with."

"The way I am, not so much." He rubs his temple. "My head hurts."

"Do you need some meds?"

He needed to get horizontal. "Nah, I'm fine. So ... what about you?"

"You know the botanist with the poison ivy? He fell down a cliff and broke his leg. My team is on stand down for a few weeks. I get to ride a desk. Yay." She makes little ironic jazz hands. "Lucky me."

"You can always keep me company."

"I might do that. When are you getting out of here?"

"Maybe tomorrow. Dr. Lam has some tests to run in the morning. If I get the go-ahead, I'll be at Cam and John's place tomorrow afternoon."

"That will be good for you."

"Yeah ... " He rubs his forehead again. "Could you go hunt down Mike for me?"

"Sure. Be right back." She doesn't like the way he looks; fine-drawn and wistful, more vulnerable than she's ever seen him. She finds the corpsman by the desk. She doesn't want to see him help Evan to bed. She doesn't think he'd like her to see him so dependent on somebody else's strength. He's always been the strong one, the one who kept them going, who never gave up. "Tell Colonel Lorne that I'll see him when he's settled at Colonel Mitchell's place," she tells Mike. She heads down the corridor before the tears have a chance to gather in her eyes.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Mike wakes him at 06:00 to start a battery of tests that includes x-rays, ECG, EEGs, CAT scans and MRIs and enough blood draws to make him feel like he's been drained by a vampire. Then he waits.

His stomach is roiling by the time Lam appears at 11am. She stands in front of his wheelchair, looking at the results and making notations on a tablet. She is quiet for so long that Lorne finally clears his throat. "Well?" he asks, not sure if he really wants to know, but also anxious to get it over with ... a little like his first trip through the stargate. He doesn't expect that same sense of wonder, however, just an uncertain future.

She finally looks up and puts the tablet aside. "Everything looks good."

"Doc, it doesn't feel so good."

"No, and unfortunately it won't for a while, but everything that should be healed, is healed. We can take off another one of those splints on your fingers before you leave. That should help. You have a therapy session scheduled -- a light one -- and then Mike will drive you to Colonel Mitchell's. You'll have a few days supply of your medications, and your prescriptions will be forwarded to Peterson. You can pick those up when you go in for therapy. Any questions?"

"Umm, no." He takes a breath. "Any idea when I'll be able to go back to light duty?"

"I'm sorry, I can't determine that right now. You'll be coming in for physical evaluations every week or as warranted."

"Okay."

Lam's brusque manner suddenly changes and she smiles at him. "Colonel, you've come a very long way in a short time. You'll be all right. She gives his shoulder a gentle touch. "I'll see you in a few days."

Evan sits and waits. He's wishes he was leaving wearing a uniform, but he has to settle for USAF sweats. He feels less than what he is, less than what he wants to be. Not all the medals and insignia in the world will make him feel normal again. He feels like part of him was left on that planet that he will always think of as Golgotha, the place of skulls.

"Sir? Colonel Lorne?" He startles. Mike is standing in front of him. "Are you ready?"

"I'm ready." His duffle is on the bed. Mike shoulders it. He looks around the tiny room. There is nothing of him left there. No ghosts of his pain. "Let's go."

Mike wheels him to an elevator. Lorne, minus his insignia and uniform is just another wounded soldier to most of the people he passes. They leave by the main gate to the lot where a van is waiting. Thankfully, it's not a handicapped accessible vehicle. Lorne slowly gets out of the wheelchair. He straightens, his body hurting, but he gets into the passenger seat and fastens the seat belt while Mike folds up the wheelchair and stows it in the back with the walker and Lorne's duffle. It's a short drive, but for Lorne, not an easy one. The van's suspension and the bumpy Colorado roads make for an uncomfortable and a painful ride. He tries to focus on the passing landscape, the familiar streets of Colorado Springs. It's a slightly overcast day, and warm. He breathes deeply, feeling the painful tug of his healing ribs.

"Sir, are you doing all right?"

"Just keep driving," Evan says. "I've been worse."

"Yes, sir. It won't be long now. Another five miles or so."

Close. Lorne gets out his cell phone and calls Cam. "I'm about five miles out," he says. He tries to keep the breathless hurt out of his voice.

"We'll keep the porch light on for you." Cam's warm voice makes Evan smile.

"Thanks."

The van turns down a newly paved road into a development that is both upscale and comforting. Some of the houses are finished and landscaped, others are only partly finished. Cam's place is partially landscaped, freshly painted. It looks like a home; toys scattered in the yard, furniture on the porch. John and Cam are standing on the porch with a small, dark-haired boy clinging to John's leg. Alex. Lorne wonders if he remembers him. Alex asks Cam something and Cam replies too quietly for Lorne to hear. Whatever it was, Alex takes off into the house.

Mike gets the wheelchair out of the van, opens Lorne's door and helps him into the wheelchair. Cam hefts the duffle. He looks at Mike. "Thanks. I've got it from here."

Mike nods and turns to Evan. "Sir, I'll be back to take you to Peterson in the morning."

"Thank you." Then he's on his own. Alex reappears with his hand behind his back. He apparently thinks Evan needs more help. He sets a small plush whale in Evan's lap and says very quietly and seriously, "This is whale. He takes care of you."

Lorne is surprised that Alex even remembers him, and even more when Cam touches the side of his neck with a gentle touch. "You'll be all right," he says quietly. Evan can only nod, more than a little overwhelmed with emotion.

Cam wheels him to the back patio and into the house. Lorne is faintly annoyed and embarrassed. "I _can_ walk," he points out to Cam.

"I know, but we have to get the chair inside anyhow, so let me do it the easy way."

John is in the kitchen getting out chicken to put on the grill. He turns from the sink and sees Evan holding the little whale. His eyes widen, then warm. "Looks like you found a friend."

"I promised Alex I would take good care of him."

"He knows you will. I always knew you would." John looks at him levelly. "I'd better get this on the grill or we won't be eating before dark."

Lorne is still sitting in the wheelchair, his hand curving around Whale, looking impossibly vulnerable when he returns for his grill fork. John backs out to the patio and right into Cam. "Sorry," he apologizes.

"What?"

"Lorne. He ... Crap, Cam. It's hard to see him like this. I know how he feels, but I don't know what he needs, and even if I did, I'm not sure we can give it to him."

Cam speaks into the silence. "He needs friends. He needs people around him like you, because he knows that you understand. He needs a place to stay where nobody looks at him and pities him for what he's been through. Hell, John, even Alex knows what he needs!"

"Well, clue me in, will ya?"

Cam shakes his head. "We'll start small. Right now, he needs his walker."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Evan is shakier than he'd like to admit, and his nerves and damaged tissues are beginning to wreak havoc on his weary body. He made it through dinner -- surprised that John can actually cook -- but now, he's settled on the couch with Alex curled against him. His ribs hurt, but the boy's trust touches his heart and his slight weight is more comforting than painful.

"Bedtime, sport." Cam says, holding out his hand to Alex.

"'kay." Alex agrees sleepily. He gives Evan a gentle hug and pats Whale, his little hand lingering a bit.

"Are you sure you don't want to take Whale with you until he's used to me?" Lorne asks.

Alex shakes his head. "No. He keeps you safe."

"Thanks, Alex. I feel safe."

Alex holds his arms up to Cam. "G'night ... I call you Uncle Evan?"

Cam raises a brow, querying. Evan smiles. "Sure. I'd like that, Alex. Goodnight."

John finishes up in the kitchen and joins Evan. He stands a bit uncertainly, looking around. "Can I get you anything?"

It's awkward. Evan knows John isn't the most demonstrative man in the world, and now Lorne's rank, even though John isn't in the Air Force, is between them. "You're really bad at this," Evan says, smiling.

John blushes, grins. "Yeah, I am. You probably feel like socking the next person who asks you how you're doing, so I won't do that out of self-preservation. I stick with my first question: Can I get you anything?"

"The walker. I'm taking a page from Alex's book and hitting the hay."

"There are clean towels in the guest bathroom. Cam put your shaving kit and meds in there." He gets up and opens the walker. He holds on to it as Lorne pulls himself up, trying not to look like he's hovering. "You need anything, just holler. Everybody else does."

"Thanks. I think I can manage."

John watches him make a slow progress down the hall. A few minutes later, Cam comes downstairs, cell phone in hand. "Yeah, sure. I got it. Be there ASAP." He makes a face at John. "I've got to go into work for a few hours."

"Off world?"

"No. Seventeen came in with a report on some Lucien Alliance activity where there shouldn't be any. All team leaders are being called in to access the threat. Routine."

"As our lives ever are," John smiles. "I'll be here grading papers until midnight. I hate essay tests."

"Probably not as much as your students do. Anyhow, Alex is down for the count. How's Evan?"

"Pretty beat up. I'll check in on him in a bit. Give him some privacy first." He glances towards the hall with a vaguely worried look on his face.

"I hope I'll be back before midnight. Hard to tell." He gets his keys off the table in the hall, and John feels a brief rush of cool air as the door opens and shuts behind him. For an hour or so, he works on grading essays, wondering what they are teaching kids in English class. He is teaching a math class, and thought that an essay would help his students translate math skills to real life. It doesn't seem to have worked as well as he had hoped.

All is quiet from the office/guest room. John looks in. Lorne is face down on the bed, the pillows scrunched under his head. His dark hair is mussed and spiky like Alex's, and he is holding Whale in his hand. He's still fully dressed but for his shoes and socks. John looks in the bath. Several prescription bottles are on the vanity. He picks them up and reads them. Vicodin, Percocet, Rozarem, Valium. He knows, and has taken most of them. Heavy duty painkillers and a sleep aid, and anti-anxiolytic, vitamin and mineral supplements ... _God, what had happened to Lorne?_ He looks at the bottles again. The only one with a loosened lid is the Vicodin. Lorne probably couldn't twist it with his fingers splinted. He closes it tight, mindful of Alex.

John covers Evan with a woven blanket and turns out the lights, leaving the night light on in the bathroom and the desk lamp turned to its lowest setting. He doesn't want Lorne to wake during the night to darkness.

It's 11pm and no sign of Cam. John checks in on Alex. He's curled into a ball, clutching his second favorite stuffed toy, a plush cat, named Cat. John touches his hair, his damp, warm cheek. He never stops marveling at the miracle of this child who changed his life. There are times when he misses Atlantis, when it's an actual physical ache. Thanks to Cam, though, he still has access to SGC as a "consultant" when they bring in artifacts, need insight into the Wraith culture, or request an insider's perspective on the Pegasus galaxy. He still talks to Teyla and Ronon, and hears from McKay and Jennifer constantly with the wedding on the verge of happening. At times it seems he's hardly left at all, that he's just visiting Earth on an extended leave. It's comforting in a way, the best of both worlds.

He settles down with a mug of tea and more exams. This batch is better, thank God, and he smiles as he reads and grades. When he looks up at the clock, it's 1AM, and still no sign of Cam. John sits on the couch and opens his laptop. Due to his status at SGC, he has access to files about Atlantis. He doesn't often do this from home, but he logs in to Woolsey's reports and begins reading about Lorne's disastrous mission. By the time he's finished, he feels sick. Not even Woolsey's dry, academic detachment could disguise the horror of what Lorne had endured. Caroyn Lam's report is attached, and John looks at that, too. The list of injuries is appalling, but at least John knows what Lorne is dealing with physically. All things considered, his recovery is remarkable. He logs out and closes down when he hears the purr of Cam's Mustang in the drive.

Cam's keys hit the table in the hall and when he comes into the living room, he collapses in an armchair and squeezes the bridge of his nose, making an inarticulate sound of annoyance and exhaustion.

"Want to talk about it?" John asks.

"Hell, no. Maybe in the morning."

"Heading off-world?"

"No. Ellis and the _Odyssey_ are investigating with SG-17. Cadman is lucky her team is on stand-down. How's Evan?"

"Sleeping. I took a look at his meds. Pretty heavy stuff."

"Yeah, well, Lam knows what he needs. You've seen him, John. He's been badly hurt. Most men wouldn't even be walking around ... Hell, they'd be dead!"

John is silent. "I'm tired. Essays are a bitch to grade."

"That'll teach you to assign them. True/False, multiple choice -- that's the way to go."

"Yeah." He stands up and stretches. "Ready to call it a day?"

"Nah. I've got some more reports to read. Thank God, I'm off tomorrow." He ambles into the kitchen and reappears with a bottle of water and a cookie. John makes one last check on Lorne, who has scarcely moved, before he goes upstairs.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

The absolute and unfamiliar silence wakes Evan in the middle of the night. He sits up, gasping at the pain in his back, wanting only to curl up into a ball. He had been dreaming about Atlantis, a confused and frightening dream that was just on the edge of a nightmare. He half expects to be in his room. Instead, he sees wooden bookcases, a functional office desk, a stack of packing boxes in the corner. He remembers now. He's at Cam's condo. His hand brushes something soft -- a child's plush toy. Alex's Whale. Evan pushes himself painfully upright. He makes his way, hanging on to various articles of furniture, to the bathroom where he manages to get the lid off his Vicodin. He hates taking it, but the Percocet is even worse, and he won't touch the sleep meds. He splashes some cold water on his face.

He's pale in the dim light. His bones are sharp and his eyes are deeply shadowed. The drops of water on his cheeks look like tears. He turns away, dries his face and goes back to bed. Even with the Vicodin, sleep eludes him. His sketch pad is in his duffel, but the thought of moving around is daunting. He lays back down, waiting for dawn. When the first light shows, he falls asleep. Two hours later, he's awakened by Alex's voice in the hall outside his door and Cam hushing him.

He remembers that he has an appointment at Peterson. He thinks about moving, about getting upright. The long day yesterday left him exhausted and aching -- and there is no Mike to help him get out of bed. Evan grits his teeth and sits up. His arm hits the walker and it clatters to the hardwood floor. _Shit!_

Mitchell appears in the doorway, does a quick assessment of the situation and relaxes. "I can get that." He sets up the walker. "Need a hand?"

Evan hesitates, caught between pride and necessity. "Yeah. Umm ... I'd like to shower and shave before I head off to Peterson."

"Shower before coffee?"

Evan tries to grin. "Maybe not." He stands, leaning heavily on the walker, with Cam's strong arm steadying him. "I'll be out in a few minutes."

Cam lets go, and he doesn't fall. He makes it into the bathroom and closes the door. When he's done, he heads slowly to the kitchen, grateful that Cam's hardwood floors make using the walker easier than carpeting would be. The kitchen is bright and clean, uncluttered. Alex is sitting on a booster seat with a bowl of cereal, milk on the side, in front of him.

"Daddy went to school," he informs Evan seriously.

"What about you? Are you in school?" Alex nods, but doesn't say anything, his mouth full of multicolored O's.

"Alex, drink your milk. Mrs. Rudolph is here." Cam turns to Evan. "She takes Alex to daycare, picks him up, and keeps him at her place until either John or I get home," he explains, mostly to acquaint Evan with the household routine. "What can I get you for breakfast?"

Evan realizes that for the last three weeks, he's been eating whatever was put in front of him, even ersatz eggs. He looks at Cam. " _Real_ eggs, bacon if you've got it, whole wheat toast."

Cam has seen the wistful look on his face and remembers the food at SGC. "I can handle that. Scrambled okay?"

"Yeah, kind of like my brain," Evan jokes. It's lame, and he can see that Cam knows it. In other circumstances it would have led to laughter eventually. Cam just gives him a one-sided smile and starts cooking.

"Bacon is the food of the gods," Lorne pronounces when he's finished eating. "Thanks, Cam."

"Nothin' to it." Cam clears the table and puts the dishes away. Lorne decides the military neatness of the house is due more to Cam than John. Sheppard's room on Atlantis had always been comfortably cluttered. "What else can I do for you?"

Evan is intensely uncomfortable with the next request, but unless he wants to go to Peterson reeking of two day's sweat and looking like he's coming off a bender, he has to get over it. "Shower?"

Cam doesn't even blink. "Sure. I'll get it set up for you. One of the reasons I brought this place was the fully accessible bath. I figure with as many times I've come back from missions battered black and blue that it might come in handy. C'mon, I'll show you the bells and whistles."

Cam isn't joking. The shower is a miracle. Digital read-outs for temperature and flow, a pull down shower seat, hand-held spray nozzle. Shelves at varying heights, even a build in soap dispenser with a motion activated sensor. Cam shows off the controls. "It's not Atlantis, but it's pretty good," he says.

"Sweet."

"Listen, if you need help ... ask for it."

Lorne doesn't meet his eyes. "I can handle a lot by myself, but if you could help with this sweatshirt?"

"Sure." Cam manages to make it easy for Evan to slide his arms out of the sleeves. He raises it over Lorne's head, and stops. He must have seen the bruises and scars marring his skin. His warm palm rests on Evan's back. "Ev ... damn, they did a job on you."

"Yeah," his voice is shaking. "It's not pretty."

"Scars fade," Cam says quietly. "You'll be okay."

He shivers and blinks away the darkness. "Thanks. I can finish from here."

Cam is still shocked by Lorne's injuries, but he steps back. "Ah, if you need anything ..." He pauses, unsure of what the solution is short of hovering outside the door.

"You mean this shower doesn't have a call button? Even SGC has one of those."

"I knew I forgot to add something to the specs on this place." He's easier now that they're back on safer emotional ground. "Seriously, just holler."

Evan takes a few minutes to collect himself, then manages to get out of the rest of his clothes. He avoids the mirror, sets the controls and lets the heat loosen up his muscles. He washes his hair, shaves, and manages to put on the clean sweats Cam has thoughtfully set out for him. He hasn't even had his therapy and he's exhausted and hurting already. It is going to be a long day.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Peterson is big, bustling with activity. Airmen going about their business, mostly at a military clip that Lorne misses. Mike drops him off at the med center. Evan waves him off and walks into the building. Despite using the walker, he feels like a charlatan compared to the other outpatients -- amputees confined to wheelchairs, some suffering brain injuries ... An airman who had been  
blinded walking with a guide and a white cane. It is the damage wrought by a war on earth, not two galaxies away. It's a sudden and harsh reminder that what he does on Atlantis is damn amazing, and that if it weren't for his tweaky gene, he'd be doing flyovers above the Middle East. Nobody knows that. To them, he's just another gimp with a walker.

He finds the therapy department and gives his name to the rather frosty receptionist. She's a civilian employee, not military, and since he's not wearing his insignia, she tells him to fill out a five page questionnaire and goes back to her work. Lorne looks at it and puts it aside when the first question is where was he last deployed. Fortunately, he is called back to the desk before he has a chance to even think about the damned forms.

"Dr. Iverson's office is down the hall, first door on the left. You can give him the forms."

"Yes, ma'am," Evan says. He smiles, and she thaws enough to smile back. "Thank you."

Dr. Iverson's office is strictly utilitarian; a metal desk, a few uncomfortable chairs, a backlit panel to examine x-rays, and a wall full of diplomas and certifications from the AAOS, MDFACS, and fellowships from Bethesda, Cook County, and Northwestern University, commendations from the Air Force, but nothing personal, not even a photo.

Iverson strides in, his white lab coat flapping around his gaunt frame. His gray hair is cropped close and he has a slightly distracted air about him. He clips a series of x-rays on the light display and frowns at them before he turns to Evan.

"Colonel Lorne, is it?"

"Yes."

"You have some ... unusual injuries," Iverson observes, turning back to the x-rays. "They seem to be healing well, however."

"I'm supposed to be here for rehab."

Iverson sits behind his desk and opens a file on his computer. "Hmm. Yes, you are. I'm supposed to sign off on that, apparently. He looks at another screen. "You are taking the pain medication as needed?"

"Yes."

"How's it working?"

"It keeps me from screaming," Evan says, only half-joking. He does't think Iverson has much of a sense of humor.

"Are you sleeping?"

"Yes." He brazens out the bald-faced lie.

"Eating?"

"Now that I'm not being served from a military cafeteria, yes." To his surprise, Iverson does laugh at that.

"I see your sense of humor has survived intact, Colonel." He picks up a pen and signs the papers in front of him with a flourish. "Former Master Sergeant Isaac Wilson will find particular pleasure in ordering a bird colonel around, but he's the best therapist on the base. He's not a sadist, so if you are in pain, please let him know. He will believe you, even if he does call you a 'little girl'."

"Great." Evan isn't afraid of the Wraith, but a former DI? That's something else. "Okay, where do I go?"

"The therapy room is at the end of the hall. Colonel, remember what I said about pain. It's important."

Evan thinks that if the parameters of his world were defined by pain, he'd still be in a wheelchair. He moves slowly towards the therapy room. What he finds there is a basic rehab set-up; he's been in rooms like this after he broke his leg two years ago. This one is bigger, more airy. There isn't anybody else in sight. "Hello?"

A door opens and one of the biggest men Lorne has ever seen comes out. He's built like an NFL linebacker, his head is shaved, his muscles stretch the sleeves of his gray Air Force t-shirt. This guy could give Teal'c a run for his money, no doubt. In fact, he looks a bit like Teal'c.

"Master Sergeant Wilson?" Lorne holds out his papers.

"That's right." He takes the papers in hands that dwarf Evan's. "And you are ... Colonel Evan Lorne."

"Yes."

"Good to meet you, sir. And that's the most civil I'm gonna be."

"Just get me up to speed so I can go back to active duty."

"I'll work you hard, Colonel. No special treatment."

"Yeah, I know. To you, I'm just another dumb grunt, Master Sergeant."

Wilson lets out a booming laugh. "Let's get to work, sir. You can hate me all you want, but I promise in two weeks, you'll be throwing that walker in the recycle bin."

"That's what I'm here for."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Evan can barely move after that first session. He lets Mike do most of the work of getting him in the van. It's all he can do not to scream. The drive home is excruciating, pain burning through muscles and nerves like corrosive acid. He is defeated. Mike, seeing how drawn he is, how weak, has to wheel him into the house.

It's empty, quiet; too early for Cam or John to be home. Evan doesn't have the strength to crawl into bed."Just the couch," he whispers to Mike.

"Yes, sir. Where are your pain meds?"

"Bathroom." Mike slowly lets him down on the cushions and Even lays there, too exhausted to move. Mike brings out the Vicodin, looks at the level.

"You haven't been taking these, sir," he says, slightly accusatory.

"Maybe I haven't needed them," Evan says through tight lips. He takes two now, though. Mike sets the glass of water on the table.

"Sir, do you need me to stay?"

"No. Just ... go. The pills will knock me out in a few minutes." At least he hopes they will, because if they don't, he'll be crying like a baby.

"Yes, sir." He sounds doubtful, but he leaves. Before he starts back to Cheyenne Mountain, he calls Cam Mitchell.

Cam leaves SGC as soon as he sees the last of his trainee F302 pilots down. He pulls into the development and sees Mike's van parked just out of sight of the house. Mike is sitting on the lowest porch step trying to look invisible.

Cam parks and is out of the car as Mike motions him to the side. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing serious, sir, but Colonel Lorne had a rough therapy session. He took two Vicodin --"

"Two?"

"They did the job and knocked him flat." He casts an uneasy glance back at the house. "Sir, I know about his sleep issues, and it just didn't seem like a good idea to leave him alone."

Cam looks angry. "Who's his therapist?"

"Master Sergeant Wilson, sir."

Cam knows Wilson. He's tough, but he wouldn't push Lorne beyond endurance unless Lorne ... _Damn, of course Lorne wouldn't admit to any weakness. He'd been tortured and hadn't broken._ "Thanks, Sergeant Sanchez. I appreciate it."

"You're welcome, sir." He salutes Cam. "Sir, he's ... I respect him a lot."

"So do I. You'd better get back to SGC before you're AWOL."

"I called Dr. Lam, sir. She's okay with it." He salutes one more time, making Cam feel a lot more official than he looks in his BDUs.

Inside, the living room is dim. Lorne is flat out on his back, one arm flung over his head. He looks peaceful despite what he's been through. Two Vicodin will do that, Cam figures. He covers Evan with the woven blanket Teyla gave John before he left Atlantis, and goes to change from his work clothes.

John returns about an hour later, with Alex in tow. Cam is standing at the door, warning them off. "Back door," he mimes, and John detours to the patio.

"What's up?" John asks, shushing Alex by picking him up.

"Evan's sleeping on the couch. Rehab really took it out of him."

"Okay." He looks at Alex. "Uncle Evan is sleeping so you have to be quiet."

"Okay," Alex whispers. "Quiet."

John sets him down and opens the slider to the kitchen. "No running, Alex."

"Walk." Which he does, on tiptoe. He looks into the living room. "Can I get Whale?"

"Sure, just remember, quiet like a mouse," Cam reminds him. Alex comes out of the den a few seconds later and tiptoes into the living room. He tucks Whale next to Evan, covers him up and tiptoes back out. John and Cam are both trying to hide smiles.

"Alex, want a banana?" Cam asks.

"And milk?"

They sit at the table while Cam thumbs through his email on his phone and John takes care of the more mundane snail mail, mostly flyers and bills and endless credit card offers. By the time they're finished, Alex is nodding off. "Looks like somebody else had a long day," John says, ruffling Alex's hair.

"Want me to take him up for his pre-dinner snooze?"

"Thanks. It will take me that long to tear up the junk mail."

He carries the stack into the living room and begins going through the envelopes he needs to save and those he needs to shred later. When he looks up, Evan is awake. "Hey." He doesn't want to ask Lorne how he's doing, because even through the haze of painkillers, he looks too fine-drawn and tired.

"Water?" Evan croaks. "I hate those pills."

"Sure. Take it easy. I'll be right back."

When he comes back to the living room, Lorne is sitting up. He looks like it hurts, but he takes the water from John and drinks deeply. "That's better."

"Rough therapy session?"

"Man, the therapist is a former DI. When he said jump, all my former Cadet genes sprang to life."

"You outrank him," John reminds him.

"Not in his therapy room. I'll know better next time ... which is tomorrow at 8am."

"You'll be up to that?"

"He promises in two weeks I'll be walking on my own. I'll be damned if I walk down the aisle at McKay's wedding leaning on a walker."

John leans forward in his chair. "Take your time. Jennifer won't care if you're carried up the aisle on a stretcher just as long as you're there."

Lorne makes a face. "I have a feeling that the reason I'm in the wedding party is to tackle McKay if he makes a run for it."

"I thought that was _my_ job," John jokes. They're still laughing when Cam joins them. The rest of the evening ends with Alex curling up next to Lorne on the couch, telling him about his day at school and asking him if he ever had a kitten. Lorne is drawing a basket of kittens to amuse Alex. He looks happy, relaxed, the lines of pain and the sadness John has seen in his eyes are gone for the first time since his return to Earth.

John looks at Cam and thinks that this is what home should be.

**Part 4**

Laura's desk job had come to an abrupt halt the day after Evan left the hospital. She gated out with SG-12 when their demolition expert announced her pregnancy. She's been away for two weeks and has never been happier to step into the gate room from an alien world. She intends to sleep for a few hours, but gets a message from Colonel McCaffrey at the Alpha site that puts a crimp in that plan. 

When she finishes her debrief, she goes home, showers and drives over to Cam's. She doesn't know what to expect, what she will find. He wouldn't have been released if he wasn't better, she tells herself. She trusts Lam, she does, but Lorne is her best friend and she loves him, worries about him, yet she dreads seeing him. 

_Man up!_ She tells herself as she pulls into the driveway. She should have called, she realizes too late. No cars in the drive, but then she wonders if Evan is there. She goes up the steps and rings the bell. 

It takes a few minutes but she hears a rhythmic thump heading towards the door. It opens and Evan is standing there, leaning on a cane. He breaks into a smile when he sees her. "Hey, stranger. Been anywhere interesting lately?"

"Oh, here and there." She can't help grinning. "Am I allowed in?"

He steps back and she comes inside. She does a quick sweep of the room, sees the blanket and pillows on the couch and looks at him. Sees his uncharacteristically mussed hair and the heaviness of his eyelids. "I woke you up," she says. "I am so sorry."

"You'd sleep, too, if you had three hours with Master Sergeant Isaac Wilson. The man is seriously scary. And exhausting."

"No walker, though -- that's great." She steps in gives him a cautious hug. He tenses, and she doesn't think it's due to her familiarity. "Sorry," she says and backs away. 

Evan holds out his hands. "No. It's just the rehab. I'm better. I can get you something to drink ..."

"I can help myself. Relax." She goes into the kitchen, rummages through the refrigerator for something that isn't juice boxes, milk or beer, and finds several cans of flavored water. She pours some for herself and thinks that maybe Evan would like some too. She finds some pita chips and hummus and puts them on a plate. She hasn't been in the kitchen for more than 10 minutes, but when she comes out, Evan is sleeping. 

Laura picks up the small plush whale. She's seen it before. It's Alex's favorite. She smiles, because he trusts Evan to take care of it -- or maybe it's the other way around. She tucks it close to Evan and gets her laptop from her car. She settles at the kitchen table and starts working on her mission reports for General Landry. 

John is just about as surprised to see her, as she is to see him when he steps through the sliders into the kitchen. She still wants to address him as "sir," but manages not to as she stammers out an explanation. "Evan let me in," she says."He's sleeping," she adds, as if that makes her explanation more logical. It seems Sheppard doesn't need one as he just nods in comprehension.

He opens up a can of the flavored water. "Yeah. That's why I came in the back. I didn't want to wake him."

"Is he sleeping at night?"

"He has pills," John says carefully. He doubts Lorne takes them. He's seen the light in the office on when he gets up at night to check on Alex. Saying more seems like an invasion of Evan's privacy.

"That's not what I asked."

"Draw your own conclusions," John looks at her directly.

Laura's shoulders slump. "That's what I thought."

John gets up. "I need coffee. Want some?"

"I was hoping you'd ask."

Cam has one of those K-cup brewers, and John makes two cups and sets one in front of Laura. He doesn't ask about cream or sugar. She's a marine. She'll drink it black and strong. They sit in silence for a while. 

"It's hard to see him like this," she says quietly. "Sometimes I feel like it's my fault ... that there was more I could have done to save him sooner, to get there faster." Her voice has a slightly tremulous quaver that she tries to suppress, and fails. For a moment, John thinks she might cry, and Cadman in tears is something he isn't sure he knows how to handle.

"You did everything you could. You followed orders, you followed protocols."

"What would you have done?"

That's a hard one. John doesn't know how to answer that. "I wasn't there. I don't know what I would have done. If I had done what I thought was right, I might have gotten the rest of the team captured ... or worse. If you've looked at it from all angles and you still can't see what you could have done differently, then you did the right thing."

"She did the right thing," Lorne is standing in the doorway. They hadn't even heard his cane. He comes into the kitchen, sets up to brew his own cup of coffee and joins them. "Stop feeling guilty."

John feels a little _de trop_ in this conversation. Fortunately, Mrs. Rudolph and Alex arrive home. Alex runs over to John, grabs him around his knees and asks for ice cream. "Ice cream?" John feigns surprise. "Why should I get you some ice cream?"

"This!" Alex holds out a slightly crumpled piece of paper. "I got a star."

"Well, I guess a star deserves ice cream. Thanks, Irene. Same schedule tomorrow." He looks at Lorne and Cadman. "Anybody else?"

"I think I'll pass on that," Lorne says. Alex's lip trembles and Lorne catches the wobble. "Maybe Whale would like to go with you? He might be a little lonesome since I was out all morning."

"Okay." 

John puts Alex down and watches as he runs to get the toy. "Thank you." He looks at Laura. "See, _that's_ what made him such a great XO, and what makes him such a great Military Commander."

Lorne blushes. Cadman looks at the toes of her shoes. They don't look at each other until Alex and John are out the door. Evan clears his throat. "You do know he's full of it, right?"

"No, sir. He's not." She is formal, solemn for a moment. "Major Teldy emailed me. She said they miss you. McKay says the city misses you."

Evan rolls his eyes. "In other words, Teldy is sick of doing paperwork and McKay misses my ATA gene."

"Maybe." She takes his arm. "So, tell me how you really are."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
He isn't sure himself how he really is. Physically, he is better in tiny increments. One less dose of painkillers a day, the walker left for the night when he might be unsteady on his feet, the splints off his broken fingers. The other weaknesses, the things that don't show, he doesn't want to share. 

He's not ready to talk about it. Freaking out over what happened to him isn't going to help him get better. He's built a lot of emotional walls in his past; a soldier couldn't survive without them. The torture might not have breached those walls entirely, but it had left them broken and weak. Rebuilding them is as hard as rebuilding his physical strength. He can't take that on until his body is ready to move forward. 

He sits at Cam's kitchen table, drinking lukewarm coffee and unable to meet the eyes of his best friend. "I'm getting better," he insists again. 

Laura looks sad and upset. "I have to get back to SGC." She stands and Evan reaches for her hand. He catches the tips of her fingers. 

"Thank you. For everything."

She bends and kisses the top of his head. "I'll see you when I get back."

"You just got home."

"Such is the life of an SG Team leader. I'm off world at the Alpha site configuring defenses. Nothing big or dangerous. I'll be fine."

"You'd better be back for the wedding."

"Promise me the first dance?"

"You got it. Even if it's nothing more than a shuffle around the floor." 

She raises a brow. "So, not so different from your usual dance skills?"

They're back on even ground. Lorne laughs. "O, ye of little faith. My mother spent _money_ on dance lessons for me and my sister."

"Then my life is in your hands." 

She leaves, still concerned by his dodging her original question, and with what John has told her. She decides that she's happy she's not a man. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

The nightmare is insidious; like a trickle of dirty water, scarcely felt but poisoning the entire well. In the dream he is on trial, accused of crimes and violations against citizens of the Pegasus Galaxy, the way Sheppard had been sent before a tribunal as a war criminal. Lorne is facing a jury of shadows. A hooded figure takes the stand and points a finger at Evan. "He could have saved me," he accuses. He could have rescued me if he had tried. Instead, he allowed _this_ to happen over and over without care or respite. A misshapen hand pushes back the hood and Aris's ruined face is revealed, terrible in its wrath, in its accusations. Black eyes burn into Evan's. "You could have _saved_ us all! For that you deserve to suffer as I my people have suffered, as I have suffered." He holds out a torturer's rods and jams it into Lorne's abdomen.

" _No!_ " Evan wakes up screaming and shivering, curled around Whale. He is shuddering, his heart is pounding against his ribs like a bird trying to escape a cage. He digs his fingers into his pillow and muffles the sounds he's making in his throat; raw sobs of grief, pain and shame. 

"Evan!" His door opens and Cam is enfolding him. He is whispering, "Okay, Evan. It's okay. Just a dream. Come on, buddy. Look at me. You're okay." Cam is strong and steady. Lorn hangs on to him, following him back to reality. 

Cam continues his quiet reassuring words until Evan sits up, blinking him into focus. He pushes back his sweat-matted hair. Cam is watching him with pity and concern. Evan shoves him away. "I need -- " he says and bolts into the bathroom where he is quietly sick. When the nausea passes, he splashes water on his face and tries to shake off the lingering terror. 

There is a soft knock on the door. "Evan, are you all right?"

"Yeah."

"I'll stay here until you come out, okay?"

Evan wants to tell him to go back to bed, but instead he says, "Thanks. I'll be out in a minute." He uses the toilet, washes up, brushes his teeth. Cam is still there when he comes out. "Sorry."

"For what?"

"Waking you up. I'm glad it wasn't Alex."

"You're not responsible for your dreams. I've been there -- and I'm sure John has, too." 

"Still ... thanks. You can go back to bed now."

"Have you talked to anybody? I mean professionally?"

"I haven't even had my official debrief," Evan says. "I don't see them letting me talk to anybody until then."

"I didn't mean about the mission," Cam said. "I meant about how you're not sleeping."

"I sleep." Cam gives him a look. He sighs. "I've talked to doctors. They give me sleeping pills and tell me I'm over-stressed."

Cam laughs at that. "It's our job to be stressed. Somebody has to do it." 

Lorne sinks back against the pillows. "That's what I tell them." Fatigue overtakes him suddenly and he yawns. "Thanks, Cam. I think I'll be okay."

"Evan, if you need to talk about it -- about anything. I'll be here to listen. Seriously."

"I know." His voice is fading. His eyes are closing. He's aware as he drifts off that Cam is still sitting in the easy chair. He curls on his side and sleeps as Cam stands watch.

^*^*^*^*^*^*  
Evan has his appointment with Dr. Iverson in the morning. More scans and x-rays, and a thorough exam later, Iverson comes in with his chart in his hands. "Excellent, Colonel Lorne. You're ready to step up to the next level of rehab."

"I'll bet Master Sergeant Wilson will be thrilled."

Iverson allows a small smile to quirk his lips. "You came here needing a walker and a wheelchair. Now you're using a cane. Master Sergeant Wilson gets results. Be grateful, Colonel. You've got the best."

He _is_ grateful, until he makes his way to the rehab room and finds a glowering Wilson. He can't help feeling like a raw cadet in the man's presence. Wilson looks at him, his expression unreadable. "Sir, are you ready to step up this plan of rehabilitation?"

"Yes, Master Sergeant." He beats down his apprehension and gets to work.

Two hours later, he's exhausted. _Everything_ hurts again. He won't give Wilson the satisfaction of knowing he's been pushed to the limits of his physical endurance. He leaves, leaning heavily on his cane and finds Cam waiting for him. "What are you doing here?"

"I had a meeting with the BCO about training some pilots. I thought you'd like a ride home."

"Sure. That would be great."

"I can pull up here or we can walk."

"Walk. I'm supposed to start walking every day." 

"You sure? You're looking kind of washed out."

"As long as you're not parked five miles away, I'll be fine." He grits his teeth. "Let's go."

It's only a matter of a few hundred yards, but he can't say he's not grateful to sink into the seats of Cam's SUV. It isn't until he realizes that it is an SUV and not Cam's Mustang that he catches on. "Training new pilots?" His slanting brow betrays his skepticism. 

Cam grins. "So shoot me. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I don't need a minder."

Patiently, Cam sighs. "No, but sometimes you need a friend." 

Evan can't argue with that, though he feels unfairly coddled. "I just want to get better."

"You will, but you don't have to kill yourself getting there."

"It shouldn't take this long!" Evan's usually even temper is cracking the walls of his emotions. He can feel himself starting to shake, to crumble. "Stop!"

Cam comes to a gently abrupt halt, mindful of has passenger, even in surprise. "What's wrong?"

"I need some air."

They are still on the main drive through Peterson with no place to pull aside. "Hold on. I know a place," Cam says. They exit the gate and ten minutes later they are parked in a small turn-off with a view of the mountains. Evan gets out of the SUV and stumbles over to a boulder where he sits, just breathing deeply, trying to regain his center, his calm. He feels a warmth around his shoulders and back as Cam lays his jacket over him. It shouldn't feel that comforting. He huddles into it. "How did you do it?" he rasps quietly. "How did you survive and come back?"

Cam is silent for a moment before he speaks. "It was different for me. I crashed an F-302. The physical stuff was kind of similar. The therapy was hell. Everybody said I'd never walk normally, and I was too mule-stubborn to believe them." He turns to Evan and looks at him levelly. "I wasn't tortured. Not on that go-around, so it was easier to deal with the physical trauma."

Evan leaned forward and dug the heels of his palms into his eye-sockets, as if that could erase the memory. "I should be better than this."

"Better? Am I missing something here? Man, you nearly died. I've got news for you. It doesn't work that way just because you've got this super ATA gene. Healing's gonna take time."

Evan is looking into the distance, not meeting Cam's eyes. "The other times ... when it wasn't just physical ..." He draws a shuddering breath. "How long?"

Cam is quiet, thoughtful. "It's like a scar. It never goes away. It fades with time, but it's always there." He gives a small derisive laugh. "Bet that's not what you needed to hear."

Evan wants to laugh, to be hopeful, but to his horror, he feels tears scalding his cheeks. He reaches to dash them aside, ashamed to show this in front of Mitchell. Cam catches his hands, wraps an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close. "It's okay," he says. "It's okay. Let it out." 

After what seems like an eternity, but which his internal clock tells him is only five minutes, Evan sits up, letting Cam's hold loosen. He is still shaky, still hurting. "Sorry," he apologizes. 

Cam pulls a black bandana out of his pocket. "You think I never cried? That my dad never cried after he lost his legs? We're tough, but we're not impervious. What happened to you was wrong. It shouldn't have happened, but it did. _The council of the malignant hath besieged me. They have dug my hands and feet. They have numbered all my bones. They have looked and stared upon me._. Psalm 22. That's my grandma talking, but sometimes she got it right. She had a piece of scripture for every occasion."

Evan looks up, his eyes still reddened. "And how does that end?"

"Not well for the bad guys," Cam sets a hand on Evan's shoulder. "Kind of like our job."

It hurts to breathe. Evan looks into the middle distance. "The place they took me, the fortress ... it was built of bones. The walls were made of skulls. Thousands of them. I don't think they died easily."

"Golgotha," Cam interjects quietly, his grandmother's voice whispering to him. "A place of great suffering." 

Evan continues as if he hadn't heard; his voice unsteady. "I was pretty sure I was going to end up dead. I thought it would be quick. I'd refuse to cooperate, they'd probably hurt me, and then they'd kill me. I didn't talk, didn't do what they wanted because I really thought they'd kill me and that would be the end of it. It wasn't. It isn't. It keeps hurting. I'm so _fucking_ angry at times I can hardly breathe."

"You've got a right to be angry. Hell, I'm angry right along with you. But it's the nature of life. You hurt, you heal, but you're changed by it one way or another." 

Evan looks at him, touched by the words. "Your grandma again?"

"No. My dad. Smartest man I ever met." He takes a deep breath. "How about we go home and have dinner with John and Alex?"

It sounds so _normal_ so real and good. Evan finally smiles. "Yeah, Alex beat me at Chutes and Ladders. I want a rematch."

"You are such a pushover." He stand up and holds his hand out. Evan takes it, lets Cam use his strength to pull himself up. Cam hands him his cane and they go back to the car. It hurts, but the pain is bearable.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Evan is uncharacteristically silent at dinner. Alex's chatter covers it well, but after dinner, when Evan takes Alex to the den to play board games, John looks at Cam. "Something wrong?"

Cam gets up and pours coffee for them both. "Let's take this out to the patio?"

"That bad?" 

"You know what they say about pitchers and ears."

"Okay." He follows Cam out to the small concrete patio. Their backyard is still a work in progress, but it has a view of the mountains. There is a serenity to the small space that John finds soothing. He sits in one of the Adirondack chairs and waits for Cam to say something. He finally prompts, "What's going on with Evan?"

"How much do you know about what really happened to him?" Cam asks, wondering if Lorne has been more open to talking about it to John. 

"Not much. But I have a pretty good imagination."

"Damn."

"Listen, just because we have the ATA gene doesn't mean we can read each other's minds." John moves restlessly in the chair. "I don't know about you, but I could use a beer." He gets two bottles from the kitchen and hands one to Cam. "What did he tell you?"

"As little as he could, and only then when he had a brief breakdown on the way home."

"That doesn't sound good."

"It wasn't. He's holding himself together with grit and sheer will, but not much else."

"Crap ..." John runs a hand through his hair. "They won't let him go back to active duty without a psych eval."

"We all know how to stonewall those," Cam reminds him. 

"I'll talk to him, but chances are he'll close me out, too. Where's Cadman when you need her?"

"At the Alpha site until the wedding." 

"I'll email her. Maybe she can give me some idea of what he went through. Damn, it would be easier if I could order him to get professional help but --" He breaks off as the door behind him slides open. Alex rushes out, followed by Lorne.

"Daddy ... I beat Uncle Evan three times." 

"You did? That's pretty good. Remind me not to play Chutes and Ladders with you."   
Cam scoops up Alex by the middle. "C'mon, sport. After all that hard work you need a bath and a story."

Alex giggles as Cam swings him around. It's a happy sound and John catches Evan with a wistful expression on his face, as if that sort of happiness is beyond recall or attainment. It stabs John to the heart to see it. Lorne has always been unfailingly optimistic despite his wry sarcasm. What happened to him has stripped him of something essential. It has taken his hope, and for that, John would go through the gate and hunt down the Varashi himself. 

"Want a beer?" he asks.

Evan looks at his watch. "Sure. I'm off the heavy-duty stuff." 

"The pain is better?"

Evan shakes his head. "Not that much. I just couldn't take the meds anymore. I've been sleeping better since I've stopped. That's good, right?"

"Yeah, that's good. I'll be back with the beer. Enjoy the view."

John goes upstairs to look in on Cam and Alex. Cam's shirt is damp and Alex's hair is streaming water as Cam rinses it. Pure happiness radiates from Alex; the contrast with Lorne's pain is palpable. John must have made small sound because Cam turns to him, smiling. "Hi."

"Daddy! I want to get out ... "

"Get me the towel," Cam asks over his shoulder. He wraps Alex in the towel, dries his hair. "Go, get your pjs on and hop into bed if you want a story." They watch Alex run down the hall, and John is so grateful for his life, for what he has. 

Cam is folding towels and waiting for the water to drain out of the tub. "How's Evan?"

"Did you know he's stopped taking his pain meds?"

"That's a good sign, isn't it?"

"Only if he isn't in pain ... and I don't think that's what's going on. He says he sleeps better."

"If he sleeps," Cam sighs. There have been too many nights when he's gotten up at night and seen the light under the den door. "Damn."

"I'm supposed to be getting beer. Thanks for taking charge of Alex tonight."

"No problem." 

John gets the beer and goes outside. Lorne is gazing out over the mountains, not looking exactly relaxed, but not like he's about to jump out of his skin, either. John moves the sliders as a warning before he comes alongside Lorne. "Sorry, I had to check on Alex."

"He's a great kid, John."

"Best thing that ever happened to me."

"Do you ever miss Atlantis?"

"I miss being with my team. I guess they're your team, now. I miss Ronon and Teyla. McKay -- not so much --" but he's smiling as he says it. "Rodney feels compelled to contact me just about every day, so it's not like he's that far away." He takes a deep swallow of beer. "I'll tell you what I don't miss ... life-sucking aliens, bugs, replicators. Wraith queens stabbing at me."

"So, you miss the good things."

"Pretty much. And the city. I miss the city. That sense of wonder of stepping through the gate, the way she felt at night. Beers on the pier. I mean this is nice, but it's not stunning. What about you?"

"I want to go back," Evan admits. "I miss the city. I miss our friends."

"You'll get there. They need a strong military presence no matter what Woolsey says. You're good, Evan. There's no way you won't get back there."

"Unless I can't." The wind came up and ruffled Evan's hair. He shoves it out of his eyes, impatient. "I feel broken, John."

John isn't good with this ... this raw emotion that is just beneath the surface of Lorne's calm. His first instinct is to go inside and drag Cam out here while he finishes Alex's story. Instead he takes a breath. "Pegasus can break you in a million different ways," he says slowly. "And then it will break your heart." 

Evan sinks down into the chair, rubs his temples as if they ache. There are tears trembling on the edges of his eyelashes. John fights the urge to turn around and go inside, to give Lorne the illusion of privacy, but leaving a friend alone in his pain goes against everything he believes. 

John sets a hand on his shoulder. "But you know what? You survived. Don't ever think that you haven't. So what if you feel like you're about to fall into a million pieces? Your friends are going to be there to hold you together until you're healed. You got that?"

Lorne nods, looks up at the stars. He stands slowly and painfully. The horizon is a milky blue, but overhead the stars are beginning to show. They look impossibly distant and John knows that he can't see the Pegasus galaxy; but they are beautiful, compelling and the tug on his heart to get back out there is impossible to ignore. 

"It's beautiful," Lorne says softly, echoing John's thoughts. "To go out there, to see what we've seen ... we're so damn lucky."

"I'll drink to that." They clink bottles and stand in companionable silence. 

"Do you regret leaving the Air Force?"

"No. I have Alex. I have a great life -- the best of both worlds. If I want to fly, I can. I have a job I never expected to love, but I do. And McKay is getting married in three weeks ... which makes me very happy."

Lorne laughs at that. "Yeah. I'm Jennifer's man of honor, so I'd better walk up that aisle."

"You'll be there." John sighs, "I should kiss Alex goodnight."

"I think I'll turn in, too. Me and Alex seem to be on the same clock." He takes the cane John hands to him, and they go inside. As John watches Lorne limp down the hall to the office he thinks he looks stronger, his shoulders straighter. 

The next morning he dresses in his BDUs for the first time since his return. The trousers gap at his waist, hang low on his hips. His black t-shirt is loose, his uniform blouse feels like it belongs to somebody else. He wonders how long it will take him to build himself back up to fighting form. For the first time in years, he has to gain weight. _Hello, pasta ..._

John looks in. "Going somewhere?"

"Therapy and then to SGC. Do you have a belt I can borrow?"

"Sure, Need a ride in?"

"I'll go in with Cam, hang around until therapy and then catch a ride back to SGC."

"Nervous?"

"About SGC? No. I have to get up to speed on Atlantis. I can't lay around here forever."

"Don't push it," John warned. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like."

"John, after the wedding, and when I get medical clearance, I'll be heading back to Atlantis."

"You're up to that?"

Evan sighs, "I'll be fine. You know the old saying about the horse that threw you."

"Yeah, but sometimes that horse isn't going to be tamed overnight."

"There's still only one way to find out." John brings a BDU belt and Evan looks at it. "You still have this?"

"Sure. It's a good belt. It doesn't set off metal detectors." He grins. "Keep it."

Just then Cam hollers up the stairs, "Last call for the Peterson taxi." Evan threads the belt through the loops and snaps the buckle closed. He sits down to lace up his boots, but as he bends, his hip twinges and his back refuses to bend. "John? Umm, boots?

"Sure. I tie Alex's all the time." 

"Ha, ha." He claps John on the shoulder and makes his way down the hall. Cam's Mustang is rumbling away in the drive. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
He is the only patient in the waiting room. He picks up an old issue of _Air Force_ and thumbs through it as he waits for Sergeant Wilson to emerge from the inner room. A few minutes later, the door opens and Wilson appears. 

He takes in Evan's uniform with the oak leaves on the collar and smiles. "Colonel Lorne? I thought our appointment wasn't for an hour."

"I'll wait if you're not ready."

"I am always ready, sir. Are you?"

"Hell, yeah." He goes to the locker and changes into sweats. He and Wilson have developed a rapport, a rhythm that makes even the difficult therapies more endurable, despite pain and the occasional despair that has dogged Lorne ever since his return to Earth. 

When they finish, Lorne is dripping sweat, and he swears, blood, Wilson hands him a towel and a bottle of water. "Sir, when you first came here, I thought you'd be lucky to be upright and using a walker for the rest of your life."

"I proved you wrong, didn't I?"

"It doesn't happen often, sir. I've never seen anybody work so hard to do it, either. I'm signing off on rehab, Colonel. You don't need me to continue your treatment. That, you can manage on your own. Daily activities -- walking, going up and down stairs, that's the best therapy at this point. In another two weeks, come back for an informal fitness for duty evaluation."

"I'm still using a cane ..."

"You're hardly dependent on it. Put it away for a few days, see how you do. How is the pain?"

"Getting better. I'm not taking the prescription medications any longer. Just OTC anti-inflammatory meds." 

"Colonel, may I ask you something?"

"I've cursed at you, Sergeant. I owe you that much."

Wilson smiles, shakes his head. "It wasn't a jet crash, was it?"

The question startles Evan, but he decides Wilson deserves an edited answer. "No." He takes a breath. "I was captured, tortured, beaten, left to die. Everybody thought I would die, but I fooled them. I can't tell you more than that, Sergeant."

"I was captured by Al Qaida back in 2001 after my chopper went down. I was injured, interrogated, tied in a cave for three days until the Special Forces came through and found me. I was in bad shape, sir." He pulls up the leg of his sweats. A long, jagged, angry scar runs the length of his leg. Smaller scars scatter across his leg, and the familiar lacing of skin grafts. "When I came back, I was in therapy for almost a year. But I made it. I knew you were one of the tough ones. I worked you hard because I knew you could take it."

"I didn't think I could," Lorne confesses. "I still wonder if I have."

"You're doing just fine, sir." He stands up, and for the first time, salutes Evan. "Good afternoon, sir. It's been an honor."

"It's been Hell. However, the honor is mine, Master Sergeant Wilson." He holds out his hand, and Wilson gives it a firm shake. 

"Good luck, Colonel." He looks up, alert. "I think I hear my next appointment. First time in."

The door opens and an airman wheels in a pale, thin young man. He looks terrified. The airman sees Lorne and cracks a salute. "Sir!"

Evan looks down at the young man. "You're in good hands. Sergeant Wilson is the best."

"Thank you, sir." He smiles, just a small twitch of his pale lips, but Lorne figures it's a start. He texts Cam that he'll meet him at Cheyenne Mountain in half an hour. Then he asks an airman to drive him the twelve miles between Peterson and the mountain.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Laura steps through the gate at SGC, relieved that she finished the Alpha site project ahead of schedule. She has a month's leave due, and filed for that immediately before she returned. Two weeks isn't a lot of time to prepare for the McKay/Keller nuptial festivities, as Teyla wryly calls them. She makes a brief report to the Alpha site coordinator and steps out of the office, right into Evan's path as he walks down the hall. 

Fortunately, she is walking slowly, and instead of colliding, they both manage to halt and blink at each other in surprise. "Evan -- I mean, Colonel Lorne!" She can't help it. They are both in uniform, in a public corridor. "How are you, sir?"

What she really wants to do is hug him, take a good long look at him, ask him how he is and why is he in uniform? All she can do is to try not to grin like an idiot.

"Captain, welcome back. It's good to see you. Why don't we meet outside when you've settled back in?" Not even formality can hide his smile.

"My leave starts now," she says. "Give me fifteen minutes?"

"I can do that." He's thinner, his uniform is too big. His hair is still a bit longer than regulation, he's leaning on a cane, but he looks _happy_. She knows her eyes are shining with tears, but right now, she doesn't care one bit. If she weren't a captain, if he weren't a colonel, she'd skip down the corridor, but she forces herself to walk in a somewhat dignified hurry.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed in jeans and a white sweater, her leather jacket slung over her shoulders, she's topside. Evan is still in BDUs, but he's taken off his blouse and is wearing his leather jacket, so while he looks military, he doesn't look like a superior officer. He turns slowly, sees her and smiles. "Hey, stranger."

"Gentle hug?" she asks.

"Sure." 

It is a very gentle hug, but to have him warm and _alive_ in her arms is more than she had hoped for or expected. "You look great," she says, patting his arm. "Like yourself."

"Who did I look like before?"

He had looked like a fragile shadow of himself, but she didn't want to say that. "It's just an expression," she dodges. "And not in uniform. Speaking of which, why _are_ you in uniform?"

"Catching up on Atlantis news."

"You're going back?"

"Of course. I never said I wasn't."

"I thought ... maybe some time at SGC?"

"That's not for me, not yet. The longer I'm away from Atlantis, the more I want to go back. I'm homesick." 

"How can you be homesick for a place that isn't your home?"

Evan shrugs. "Maybe it's the gene. I don't know. I miss the ocean, I miss my team, I miss the stars. I miss flying jumpers, I miss ... I even miss going through the gate. For a while the thought of stepping into the unknown terrified me. But now? Maybe I'm getting better, stronger."

She lays her hand against his cheek. "I'm happy for you, then. I'm going to be taking over SG-17 permanently. I won't be going back to Atlantis." 

"Congratulations. Putting a captain in charge of a gate team is a big vote of confidence. That doesn't mean I won't miss you, Laura."

She sighs. "You know what? I don't want to think about it. I've got a month's leave and I'm going to enjoy every minute of it." 

She is interrupted by Evan's cell phone. He answers nods. "No problem. I'm good. See you back at the ranch." He looks at her. "I hope you have some wheels here, because my ride home just cancelled on me."

"Vala has been starting my car every day. Hopefully, that's all she's done." She gives him a rueful smile. "So, do you want me to drive up here and pick you up?"

"No. According to Sergeant Wilson, the more I walk, the better I'll get. Just take it slow, okay?"

She loops her arm through his. "C'mon. Pretend I'm your granny."

"My granny runs marathons," Lorne says. "So ... let's not."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Back at the condo, Evan disappears down the hall to change out of his BDUs while Laura reacquaints herself with Alex. He is deep in an explanation of his toy helicopter, and she looks up at John and smiles. "He takes after his dad."

"I taught him everything he knows ... except for how to fly the darn things."

"Do you think he remembers ... you know?"

"Atlantis," John says easily. "Of course he does. He remembers people. He remembers coming to Earth. He can't wait to see Ronon --"

"And Teyla?" Alex pipes in. "Teyla is coming, too?"

"Yes, and Teyla. And Kana'an, and Torren."

"Cool."

Laura nearly cracks up. "Okay, who taught him that?"

"Cam. Totally Cam." John looks around. "I thought Evan was just going to change out of his uniform." Laura startles, suddenly aware of the passage of time. John tells her to stay with Alex and heads down the hall. She hears him knock and ask, "Evan? Buddy, you okay?" Then silence.   
A moment later he returns to the living room. "It's okay. He just fell asleep."

"I never should have let him walk to the car, but he seemed so well!" She's upset, worried. 

"Yeah." John crouches down. "Alex, why don't you get your crayons? I bet Laura would love a picture of a kitten, right?"

"Uncle Evan drew kittens for me. Be back." He dashes upstairs to his room. Laura waits until he is out of earshot before she speaks again. 

"I expected ... I don't know. I didn't know what to expect."

"He is getting better, but look at his day. He had rehab, spent the rest of the day at SGC catching up on some intense technical data, walked to the car ... say a quarter of a mile? No wonder he's exhausted. I'm not going to lie to you, Laura. He's not 100 percent, maybe not even 90. He's still in a lot of pain, and he's not sleeping well at night."

"I should have noticed." She feels guilty, ashamed. Evan is her friend. She should have been more attuned to his condition. She had just been so happy to see him upright and in uniform -- almost normal. 

"Considering how he was when you saw him last, this is a huge improvement. You saw that all at once. Cam and I have seen the changes in small increments. We're just more used to it. And let's face it, Evan is too stubborn to admit to you that he isn't up to speed."

"That's true. He's so damn annoying like that." She wipes her eyes. "You know, I'm going home. I'm tired and cranky and I don't know what I'm saying. So, tell Evan that I missed him and I'll call him tomorrow. I'll even drive him to SGC if he wants."

"Don't. Come over, amuse him. Take him out for a picnic or something."

"You are a genius."

"Yes, I am. Don't tell Rodney. He hates being reminded."

"Can I look in on Evan? I promise I won't wake him." John nods, and she walks quietly down the hall to the office. Lorne, in jeans and a t-shirt is sprawled on the bed, sound asleep. He doesn't move when she tucks Alex's whale closer to him. She dims the light and leaves as silently as she came, shutting the door to a mere crack. 

Alex is on the stairwell. She mimes silence. "Uncle Evan is sleeping."

"I be quiet," he whispers. "Daddy?"

"Come on, we'll find him." He tucks his hand into hers and they find John outside, looking at the mountains, Alex's helicopter held in his hands.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Evan wakes up thirsty, hungry and disoriented. His lights are dim, and the windows are showing darkness, not the afternoon light he had expected. He'd fallen asleep after changing his clothes. _Crap_. He figures Cadman will forgive him for that, but he still feels like a total wimp. His body aches and there is a sharp stabbing pain in his hip. He sits on the bed, scrubbing sleep from his eyes and trying to decide if it's worth moving. His stomach decides for him. He can't take any meds unless he eats. He retrieves his cane and walks slowly down the hall to the kitchen.

The light over the stove is on, and he rummages through the refrigerator; he takes out milk and jelly, and then bread and peanut butter from the pantry cupboard. He makes a sandwich and pours milk, then sits at the kitchen table.

He hears the garage door opening, and a moment later Cam comes quietly into the kitchen. "Hey," he says, "are you okay?"

"Yeah, just raiding the pantry for a midnight snack. Cadman brought me home and I fell asleep. A great welcome home I gave her."

Cam smiles. "She's a big girl. She'll survive. Mind if I join you?" 

"It's your house. What's up at SGC?"

Cam pours a glass of milk and spreads some peanut butter on a slice of bread before he sits across from Evan. "Nothing good, but nothing that will require me off-world as far as I can tell. How'd rehab go today?"

"I'm a free man. I'm supposed to lose the cane soon. I'm cleared to go up and down stairs, to start some distance walking, and to go back to SGC and desk duty to prep for return to Atlantis."

"You're ready for that?"

"I want to go back. Most of the time, I think I'm ready ... and then I have dreams ..." he ducks his head, not wanting to see pity in Cam's eyes. "I don't suppose those will ever go away completely."

Cam is silent. He nods. "No, they don't, but they fade like an old photograph until they lose their definition, their power. Evan, cut yourself some slack. You've earned that right." He finishes his milk and stands up, stretching. "Man, I hate debriefings and paperwork. I'm beat. Are you going to be all right?"

"Yeah. I'll take half a Vicodin and that will knock me out." He sees Cam's suddenly sharp study. "It's been a week since I've had anything stronger than ibuprofen, Mom."

Cam's lips relax into a smile. "Just checking. You know I'd clock any doctor who wasn't watching out for you -- except for Dr. Lam. I'd wake up missing part of my anatomy next time I was under her knife."

Evan laughs at that. "Thanks, Cam. Get some rest. I'll clean up." He puts the glasses in the dishwasher, the milk, jelly and peanut butter away. He heads towards the den. The way is silvered by moonlight and the round mirror at the end of the hall looks like a Stargate. It's an odd sight, but as he gets closer, the mirror becomes nothing more than polished glass; his reflection is cool and a bit blurry. His hand trembles as he reaches for the glass, touches it. He doesn't know why he expected anything but smooth glass. 

Unsettled by the odd sensation, he goes into the den and takes half a Vicodin. He pulls on sleep pants and a tee shirt and crawls into bed, waiting for the drug to send him to sleep.

That night he dreams that he steps through the gate and Atlantis welcomes him home. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
The next day, the weather turns and a picnic is out of the question. However, shopping isn't, so he goes with Cam, John and Alex to get wedding clothes. Rodney and Jennifer have decided that uniforms are not to be worn, which will save people traveling from Atlantis the bother of packing up dress blues. Which means suits and ties. John and Cam are buying new dress shirts and have apparently come to some sort of detente as to what Alex ought to wear. He has new trousers, a "big boy' shirt just like John's, and a sweater vest -- seasonal and still not as stiff as a suit. 

Evan, however, has to buy a suit off the rack and pray that it can be tailored in time. He chooses a lightweight steel-gray wool with a barely noticeable medium blue pinstripe that is nearly the exact blue of his Class A uniform. He chooses a pale blue shirt and a lighter gray tie with a pattern of blue dots that look a bit like fighters in formation. He was going for simple and instead, with his slightly longer hair and thinner face, looks disgustingly like a male model. 

His disgust must show because when he comes out of the dressing room, Cam whistles. "Pretty sharp duds, Colonel."

"I _am_ the 'Man of Honor.'" 

Cam is still trying to stifle his smile. "John took Alex to get ice cream in the mall. Want to meet us?"

"As soon as they measure the cuffs." 

"How are you holding up?"

"I'm fine. Ice cream sounds good." Just sitting down sounds better, but he won't tell Cam that. After the trousers are measured, he makes his way slowly through the mall. He's forgotten what it is like here; the crowds, the noise, the stores. It feels claustrophobic. A group of teens brushes past him and he has to recover his balance. He feels the disturbance in the crowd before it surrounds him. A woman shouts over the noise of the food court.

"My purse! That boy in the red jacket took my purse!"

Instinctively, Lorne whirls, sees a tall youth in a red hoodie trying to push through the crowd. Lorne reaches out with his cane, snags the hood of the kid's jacket and pulls him down. He plants a foot on the kid's shoulder. "Excuse me, but I think you might have something that doesn't belong to you." The kid looks scared and Lorne realizes that he's got his military face on. He leans a bit harder. "Don't you think you ought to return it?"

"Man, I don't --"

"Yes, I think you do. Stand up." Lorne is holding the cane like a cudgel. The kid gets to his feet. "Hold out the purse, and there better not be anything else in your hand. Got it?"

"Yeah, sure."

The woman pushes forward. "That's mine." She snatches the purse away, checks the contents. Meanwhile, the mall cops have arrived. Lorne explains what happened and when the cop asks him his name, he says, "Colonel Evan Lorne, United States Air Force." 

"Shit." The kid swears like he was hoping Lorne was just a guy overstepping his authority. 

"Ma'am, do you want to press charges?"

She looks from Lorne to the cops to the kid. "No. Let him go. I think he's learned his lesson."

The cop lets the kid go. "No charges, but you're coming with me. I want your parent's phone number. They'll come and get you and take you home. The mall is off-limits to you and your friends until further notice." He turns to Lorne. "Thank you, sir."

"No problem." 

John suddenly appears through the crowd. He looks at Lorne, the cop, the kid, the woman. "I can't take you anywhere without your Superman cape." 

"I'm just Clark Kent today." Evan puts the tip of his cane on the floor. "Cam said something about ice cream?" He starts limping towards the food court. 

"Wait!" The woman hurries over to him. "Thank you so much!"

Evan blushes. "It really wasn't much."

"But you're hurt, and ... just thank you, for your service." 

"I'm fine, and I just did what was right." As he walks towards the table where Cam and Alex are siting, there is a smattering of applause from the spectators. Not what he wanted at all, but he'll accept it for every man and woman serving in the military. 

"What's that all about?" Cam asks.

John sits down. "Just your ordinary everyday heroics."

"What?"

Lorne glares at John. "Stopping a purse snatcher isn't exactly like ... other things," Lorne says cautiously. "Happy ending and all is well, right?" He sags a bit in the chair. "Can we go now? I think Alex and I have had enough excitement for the day." He tilts his head towards Alex, who is half-asleep, his head nodding against Cam's shoulder, a smear of chocolate sauce on his cheek. John wipes it off and they gather up the packages and head for home.

**Part 5b**

He's exhausted and his head hurts, his hip and back are aching from being on his feet longer than he's accustomed to over the last week. He sinks down on the couch with an audible sigh and tips his head back against the cushions. He can hear John and Cam's voices upstairs and Alex's tired whine -- he's a good kid, but like all kids, when he's wound up, he's not easy to deal with. 

Evan can identify. He feels a little overwrought himself. Finally there's silence from upstairs and Cam comes into the living room and flops down in his easy chair with a sigh. "Man, I am fried." Lorne makes a noncommittal sigh. "You, too?"

"Yeah."

"Big afternoon for you."

"He was a kid and I used more force than I should have."

"I think the victim would disagree with you. To her, you're a hero."

"Some hero," he says disparaging his actions. "You know what scares me?"

"What?"

"That I acted like I did without thinking ... without considering consequences. I took that kid down hard. I scared him shitless."

"And?"

"Doesn't that seem a little ... I don't know ... _bent_ to you?"

Cam just raises a brow. "You don't think he deserved it?"

"He was a kid, not a Wraith." 

"If you'd had a P-90 in your hands, would you have killed him?"

"What?"

"Discreet use of force needed to neutralize a threat. Sound familiar?"

"You're too logical." Evan still isn't comfortable with what he had done that afternoon, even though Cam has made him feel less like a loose cannon. He levers himself upright using his cane. "I'm going to clean up before dinner. I've forgotten what it's like being in a crowd."

"You're okay?"

"Tired, aching. A little freaked out."

"So, pretty much like a normal day?"

Evan laughs. "Yeah, I guess so."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

By the time Alex is down for a nap, John feels like he needs one, too. He goes down to the kitchen, gets a bottle of water and settles at the kitchen table. He still has the latest assignment to grade, but right now, he can't deal with _x_ or any other formulas that don't add up to sleep.   
Cam comes into the kitchen and joins him at the table. "Worn out?"

"Next time, I'll make Vala take Alex shopping. She's got the energy to keep up with him. I'm getting old," he groans.

They exchange rueful grins, mock toast with their plastic bottles. John finishes his water and gets another one. He feels dried out and itchy. "Where's Evan?"

"Went to clean up, though I have a feeling he crashed like Alex."

"He had an interesting day."

"He thinks he overreacted."

"Lorne doesn't overreact. He's the most centered individual I've ever met." 

Neither of them notice that Lorne is leaning wearily on the doorjamb. "What if I've lost that center?" he asks, and they both look up with identical expressions of guilt at being caught talking about him. 

John looks at Lorne and sees more than he ought to; the exhaustion, the doubt, the pain. He isn't sure if he has the words to make it better. "You haven't. I saw that today. I saw a man -- a soldier -- take control of a situation, assess it, make a measured response, and attain the objective. I've seen you do that a hundred times, Lorne. You don't need to doubt yourself."

He came into the kitchen and joined them at the table. John, not a touch-oriented man, and Cam, who is, exchange a glance. Lorne is still too thin, still weaker than he would ever admit. Cam sets a gentle hand on his wrist. "You'll be okay. You're still not 100 per cent. I know how that can undermine you, physically and mentally. You're pushing yourself too hard."

"If I don't push myself I'll never get back to where I was before." Lorne's frustration is obvious. He pulls away from Cam. "I'll be in the family room." He limps away, his hand brushing against the wall for balance. 

"Fuck," John slumps in his chair. "That didn't do much good, did it?"

"It's what we are, it's what we do. We've been trained to push ourselves to the limits. We can't do it, otherwise."

"I'm not in that mindset any longer," John reminds him.

"Yeah, you are. You just have a different perspective."

John knows Cam is right. That part of him will never go away, it's just in abeyance while Alex is too young and vulnerable. In the face of a threat, John is aware that he will react true to form, true to his training and his nature. 

"I hope it's not genetic." He tries to smile, but ends up with a wry grimace. "So, Alex is out like a light. What about dinner?"

"I think Lorne could use an outing to the _Pegasus._ Call Mrs. Rudolph and see if she's available for a few hours tonight. I'll talk Evan into it." 

"Good luck with that."

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Evan is holding a letter in his hand when Cam comes into the family room. Cam pauses. "Bad news?"

He hands the letter over. "You tell me. It came this morning. The official slice-n-dice of the mission and the psych eval are scheduled for Monday." 

"Is that what today was all about?"

Lorne has to be honest with himself, and with Cam. "I don't know. I feel like I'm being put under a microscope. I've been through debriefs before, but this one ... " He runs a hand through his hair. "I keep thinking 'what if'?"

"What if?"

"What if they decide I'm too great a risk to go back to Atlantis? What if they decide I'm not recovering fast enough?"

"You need to stop worrying at that like a hangnail. No wonder you're feeling strung out and doubtful. Let's go to the _Pegasus_. Hang out, have a beer or two, play darts. You need a night out."

"That's your cure?"

"It beats sitting here alone, doesn't it?"

It did, Evan decides. "Okay. You win. Maybe some distraction will help."

"Was that so hard?"

"No." He grins at Cam. "You're persistent, Mitchell."

"And charming."

"I'll leave it at that." He rises slowly. "Let's go."

Mrs. Rudolph arrives a few minutes later, and they leave for the _Pegasus_. It's gone by that name for years, way before Atlantis, but it has become a gathering place for SGC personnel, particularly the Atlantis expatriates. The bar is crowded that night, but when Evan walks in leaning on his cane, he is greeted by silence and then applause, which nearly makes him turn around and head out the door. Cam and John are behind him, keeping him from acting on his impulse. 

He doesn't know why they're clapping. It's not like he did anything heroic. He survived -- and barely that. The people who deserve the applause are Cadman, Ronon and Stackhouse. They're the ones who saved him. He didn't have a damn thing to do with it.

He makes his way through the crowd, accepting accolades meant for others, and feeling as if he is at some sort of masquerade. When he reaches the booth, he slides into the corner closest to the wall, letting Cam's taller, heavier frame shield him from view. This is _not_ not what he wanted this night to be. 

"Beer?" Cam asks.

"One." He selects a draft from the list. "Thanks."

They order and Cam and John look around. "Nice reception," John remarks. 

Evan groans and sinks a bit lower in the booth. "I never asked for this," he says. "I don't know why everybody thinks I'm a big damn hero."

John leans forward. "Here's the deal, so listen up. Not everybody could do what you did. I wasn't there, but I've talked to Cadman and Ronon about that place. I know what you've been through, and Cam and I have watched every single damn _painful_ step you've taken to recovery. That alone takes a hell of a lot of courage. SGC doesn't tolerate slackers or layabouts on their gate teams." He pauses, grins. "Insane people -- Hell, I mean they promoted _me_ ; but not incompetents. Even Kavanaugh has some smarts even if he is an ass." 

The waitress brings their beers. John raises his mug. "Recovery." 

"I can drink to that." He, Cam and John clink their mugs. The beer tastes good. The company is good, and Sheppard's words mean a lot to him. He lets himself relax; and it's almost as if he's back on Earth for no reason other than a trip through the gate. 

He still isn't comfortable with the attention, but Laura and Vala join them, adding another layer of emotional and physical insulation. When they leave several hours later, Lorne is tired and aching, but relaxed. 

When they get back to the condo, Cam steers Lorne towards the den as John checks on a sleeping Alex. "I'm fine," he protests.

"You're exhausted and two beers are making you stupid with it. Go to sleep."

"I'm fine," he repeats, but they are in front of the door. He opens it. "'Night, Cam. Thanks for everything."

"You're welcome. Now get your ass to bed before you fall over."

Lorne gives up. "See you in the morning." He hits the pillows hard, certain that he will sleep until dawn. 

That night, he sleepwalks. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

He doesn't remember it. His first moment of awareness is John's hands on his shoulders, and his insistent voice telling him to wake up, he'd only dreaming. He can't even say what he was dreaming, and when he asks John if he said anything he replies that he heard a noise, came downstairs and found Evan standing in the hallway. 

The setback is devastating. Evan looks at John and sees pity in his eyes, and hates that. He jerks out of John's hold. "I'm sorry I woke you. It won't happen again."

"Sir."

"What?"

"You sounded like you wanted to say, 'sir.'" 

"I woke Alex." 

"Alex wakes himself up at least once a night. Don't worry. Cam's got him."

"Still ..." 

John raises a brow and asks, "Do you want some tea or something?"

"Do you have any of Teyla's left?"

John finds a packet in the cupboard, heats up two mugs of water and joins him at the table. "Must have been the two beers," he says. 

"That'll teach me," Lorne said. He grips the mug with both hands, feeling the warmth through his palms, and trying to hide his trembling fingers. 

John doesn't say anything more about Evan's sleepwalking. Instead they talk about the wedding, about Alex, about John's teaching. The shakes finally dissipate and Evan realizes that he's exhausted. "I'll just go back to bed, now," he says. "Thanks."

"Don't dwell on it, Evan," John says. "You're all right."

Evan sighs. "I guess so." He pauses outside the den. "I've been thinking, now that I'm mobile again, I might go to California to see my new nephew and visit a friend in L.A."

"After the debrief?"

Evan takes a deep breath. "Yeah. Once I cross that bridge. Right now, it looks like the bridge in _Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom_."

John smiles gives Lorne's shoulder a pat. "He survived, hat intact. So will you."

"I guess we'll know on Monday."

He closes the door and leans against it. He feels cold inside. The thought of the official debrief and the subsequent decision that he has no control over, is a nightmare worse than the one that had driven him to sleep walk -- even though he can't remember it. 

He puts on a sweatshirt and opens the window leaning out over the sill and peering at the stars. They shine down like a path away from Earth, away from his pain. He thinks about piloting a jumper through the gates, the way the stars tunnel away, the way they emerge floating on a phosphorescent swath of diamonds in a black velvet sky. Worlds of emerald and ice and sapphire. His city, floating on a silver sea like a star itself. He would do anything, _anything_ to get back there. Even if it means facing down a military review panel that might find him unfit for duty. 

The chill of the Colorado night brings him back to Earth. He rubs his arms, closes the window. His bed is a mess of twisted covers, attesting to his restless night. He straightens them, goes into the bathroom, takes some Tylenol and crawls back into bed. This time, he sleeps soundly. 

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Laura is sitting in the hallway outside the conference room at SGC. She is dressed in her marine blues, from her cover to her entirely regulation black pumps. She isn't used to the uniform, having been off-world more than on, for the last two years, and it feels oddly stiff and very formal compared to her utility uniform or her relaxed off-world attire. The formality only serves to emphasize her unease over the whole situation. As CO of the away team, any actions taken after Lorne was captured are her responsibility. Stackhouse got away with filing a video deposition from Atlantis. As a gene carrier, he's too valuable to spare away from the city. She is concerned, however, for Evan. He is coming from his psych evaluation and she wonders if he made it through intact. Then to have to face this ... 

His actions prior to his capture were completely regulation. But he will have to hear her own report on his rescue and return to Atlantis. He was unconscious, so he can't have any memory of how brutally he had been tortured. She wonders if the panel will ask for details, and that sickens her. 

The door opens and she is called in. Across the table from her, General Landry, Agent Malcolm Barrett, and Dr. Coolidge make up the review panel. She approaches General Landry. "Reporting as requested, sir."

"As you were, Captain." Laura relaxes her spine slightly and nods to the other members.    
"Please have a seat, Captain." Landry's attitude is both paternal and military. At least he isn't overbearing and hostile. Dr. Coolidge is both. Barrett is silent, looking down at the written report on the table. Two out of three. She'd take those odds in a fair fight.

The door opens and Walter steps inside. "Excuse me, sir. Colonel Lorne is here. He would like to attend Captain Cadman's debrief, if possible."

Landry looks from Laura to the other members of the panel. "Objections, gentlemen?"

"Given that Colonel Lorne is the only person who is able to recount his experiences before and during his captivity, I have no objections."

Barrett nods. "I agree."

Of course, they don't ask her. Walter holds the door open and Lorne, wisely using the cane, comes into the room. He's wearing his Class A uniform and his hair is back to a military cut, which emphasizes his bone structure. His collar is loose despite the tie. He acknowledges General Landry. "Thank you, sir."

"At ease, Colonel Lorne. Please, have a seat. You've been to enough of these that you know the procedure I take it."

"Yes, sir."

"We will hear your account of the action while you were CO of the away team, first, Colonel."

Laura watches Lorne from the corner of her eye, while trying to keep her focus on the wall behind the table like a good little marine. She doesn't move a muscle as Lorne begins speaking in a quiet, but level voice. 

"We had been in contact with the Indiri, a friendly indigenous population who needed trading partners. So many of their traditional trading partners had been culled that they were virtually isolated. As they were an agrarian society, Atlantis was prepared to trade some technology to aid them in return for their crops. What we didn't know at the time was that the stargate was being monitored by the Varashi -- a warrior culture responsible for many massacres of the Indiri over the last centuries. The Indiri believed the Varashi were responsible for the Wraith culling of their system."

"Still you went into these negotiations blindly?" That was from Coolidge. 

"We went into these negotiations in good faith and on intel that the Indiri were not hostile. The Ancient database did not contain information on the Varashi -- either inadvertently or perhaps because the Varashi were a rebel population from another civilization developed after the Ancients left the Pegasus galaxy." 

"Continue, Colonel."

"We arrived at the gate where a delegation greeted us. We had no reason to suspect they were not Indiri. They greeted us cordially, but when I suggested that we go to the village to see what kind of assistance would be needed, they activated the gate and a Varashi raiding party came through. They used some kind of wide-range stunner and ... well, sir. That's all I remember until I came to, alone, in their stronghold."

He pauses and Landry pours a glass of water and pushes it across the table towards him. "We can take a break, Colonel."

"I'm fine, sir." 

"Then continue from that point."

He does, in a measured voice, devoid of expression, so different from his usual wry tone. Laura wonders if he wrote it first, them memorized it, but she doubts it. He is telling the story as if it had happened to somebody else. Maybe that detachment is what makes it possible for him to report the events without prejudice or anger. She can't help watching Landry, Coolidge and Barrett as they listen. They don't know Evan as well as she does. She can see the toll this is taking on him. She is hearing things she didn't know, and every word is wrenching. When he finishes, at last, she can feel the tears gathering on her eyelashes. General Landry looks shaken and furious, Mr. Coolidge is looking nauseated. Agent Barret's mouth has thinned to a hard line even as he keeps on writing. She wishes they would let his words stand, but of course, they have questions, and she can't protect him from those. 

"Could you have activated the chair, Colonel?" Mr. Coolidge asks.

"I could have activated the controls, but the ZPM that powered it must have been virtually depleted."

"You would have fired it?" Coolidge asks, horrified. 

"There was a Wraith ship on the way. Honestly, I would have preferred to have been a prisoner of the Wraith rather than the Varashi. As I said, the ZPM was close to depletion. I couldn't have fired a pistol at that point." He takes a breath. "I nearly programmed it to hit the fortress."

"You would have killed yourself?" Coolidge is clearly appalled. 

Lorne looks at him. "I would have done what I felt was right to protect Atlantis and it's allies. That is my duty." 

Coolidge has the grace to look chastened. Landry meets Lorne's eyes, and Laura sees pride and admiration in them. "I'd say you've more than earned those wings, Colonel. Thank you for your heroism and sacrifices. You can leave now, if you wish."

"Sir, I'd like to stay for Captain Cadman's report, if I may."

Laura turns to him for the first time. "Sir, I --"

"I have a right to know what I don't remember," Evan tells her. He is pale, but rock steady.

"Captain Cadman, are you prepared to give us your report?"

"Yes, sir."

She takes a breath and a swallow of water before she composes herself and begins speaking. She tells them about the rescue mission, how Ronon finally found T'Kai Molas who gave them the gate address to the Varashi fortress. "We, Ronon Dex, Sergeant Stackhouse and I, approached what appeared to be a fort. As we did, Ronon Dex, discovered that the soil we were walking on contained human remains. Bones. The land surrounding the fortress were a killing ground. When we reached the walls, they seemed to have been made of some sort of highly polished, round stones. They weren't. The walls were built of skulls ... there must have been hundreds of thousands of them. I recalled something that T'Kai Molas had told us ... that the Varashi didn't take hostages, and that _Varashi_ means Skull Takers." 

"What kind of resistance did you meet?" 

Cadman looks at Barrett. "None. Everybody was dead. The Varashi killed their prisoners."

"They didn't kill Colonel Lorne," Coolidge's implication that Lorne was spared because he had somehow helped the Varashi is absurd, sickening. Laura knows that Evan is watching her, ready to come to her defense. Instead, she comes to his; her spine suddenly marine straight. 

"He was beaten nearly to death. You weren't there. You didn't see the blood spattered on the walls, or the bones sticking through Colonel Lorne's skin. You weren't there ... you didn't see everything that I saw, that Sergeant Stackhouse and Ronon Dex saw. With all due respect, Mr. Coolidge, _you weren't there_. 

She feels the tears scalding her cheeks, but she doesn't care. She is incapable of the same detachment Lorne brought to his report. "We were able to bring Colonel Lorne safely back to Atlantis, but he still nearly died of his injuries. He is here today because of the excellent care he received from Dr. Keller and Dr. Lam. Yes, I destroyed a weapons chair to keep the technology away from the Wraith and any Varashi who might return and try again to activate the chair. It was my decision and I will stand by it."

"Captain, your courage and judgment are not in any doubt," Landry's fatherly voice is soothing and she allows her spine to relax a bit. She looks at Evan. "I'm sorry, Colonel. I wish that had never happened to you."

Landry looks at the other members of the debriefing panel. "Gentlemen, I've heard what I need to hear. In the military, we learn to choose our objectives, act according to our training and instincts, and to _never_ leave a man behind. Colonel Lorne and Captain Cadman have, in my opinion, performed to the highest standards of Stargate Command and the United States military expedition, whose duty and charge is to protect at all costs, the interests and the personnel of the Atlantis mission. I find no fault with their actions."

Barrett puts his pen down. "I agree, General. I'm satisfied that the Atlantis mission was not compromised by Colonel Lorne and that Captain Cadman acted appropriately in destroying the chair in the Varashi fortress to keep it from falling into enemy hands. My report to the director of the NID will be completely favorable."

Landry glares at Coolidge, daring him to say anything derogatory. Coolidge isn't a complete fool. "I concur. Colonel, I'm sorry for your injuries and treatment at the hands of the Varashi. Your courage is daunting. Captain Cadman, while I may not agree with your decision to destroy an extremely valuable asset, I do agree with your reasoning to keep it out of enemy hands. The IOA will receive a full and supportive report from me."

Landry looks at Cadman and Lorne. "Thank you for your exemplary service. This debriefing is concluded with no further action needed from either of you." Landry rises and orders the papers in front of him. "Colonel, you look wrung out. Get some rest, son." He smiles at Cadman. "Well done, Captain."

"Thank you, sir." She stands at attention as the review panel leaves the room, then she sits down again, her knees shaking. She looks at Evan. "Well, that's over."

"Relieved?"

"I've been dreading this." She looks at him. "Are you all right?"

"Sure. I've just spilled my guts in front of a general, a representative of the IOA, and a spy. I'm great." He leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "And I've just heard my best friend tell those people, and me, in somewhat graphic detail, things I wish I didn't have to revisit."

"Evan, I warned you."

"I needed to hear it. I needed to know that it was as bad as I recalled, that I wasn't a coward or a traitor."

"Oh ... Evan. You could never be either of those." She wants to touch him, to hug him, but the formality of their uniforms and the awareness of where they are, and for what reason, keeps her from breaching military protocol. Instead she asks, "Would you like to get some coffee someplace away from here?"

He takes a breath, straightens."If it weren't ten o'clock in the morning, I'd like to get a stiff drink."

"Probably not the best idea," she whispers, smiling. "But I'm free later today."

"I'll pass on the coffee. I want to get out of these Class A's. They have to be shipped back to Atlantis."

"When are you going back?"

"Not for a month or so. There is a little matter of a wedding, the medical re-cert, and some extended personal leave I haven't taken. I thought I'd go visit my sister. Catch some rays on the coast ... just ... get away for a while."

"That sounds like a good idea." 

"What about you?"

"Back to the Alpha site for a week to finish up some of the defense plans, and then back to earth for the wedding." She stands up, smooths her skirt. "I am _so_ ready to leave this behind us." 

Evan grimaces as he rises and catches the concern in her eyes. "I'm fine. Just stiff from sitting for too long."

"You can't blame me for worrying."

"No." He smiles at her, not as carefree as he has been in the past, with a hint of sadness and lingering pain in his eyes. "Thank you, Laura. You saved my life."

"Yes, I did. But I didn't do it alone."

"I know. After hearing what you went through for me -- I won't forget that."

"You would have done the same for us." She inclines her head, acknowledging him as she had acknowledged General Landry. "It is an honor, sir." She starts out the door. 

Evan is speechless for a moment before he finds his voice. "Happy hour at the _Pegasus_?"

"Yes, sir." She winks at him over her shoulder as she leaves.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

When he gets back to the house, Cam is on the front porch, watching Alex playing with his helicopter. Alex looks up and sees him in his blues. He runs up to Evan, stopping just short of giving him a hug around his knees. He knows that the dress blues pretty much mean hands-off. He squints up at Evan's medals. 

Evan bends down and Alex looks at the rows of ribbons. "Touch?"

"Sure." 

Alex's small finger traces across the rows. "You have lots."

"I keep my room clean, eat my vegetables and brush my teeth," Lorne says solemnly. 

Alex giggles, runs his fingers across the ribbons. "I want ribbons, too."

Lorne picks Alex up, not even thinking that just two weeks ago that would have been impossible. "Talk to your dad. He has more than I do." Alex squirms and Evan winces a bit as he sets him down. 

Cam's brow is raised. Evan shakes his head. "It's okay." 

"Alex, let's go get some milk and banana. Uncle Evan looks like he could use something to eat."

"Milk sounds good, doesn't it, Alex?"

Alex nods and takes Evan's hand, tugging him into the kitchen. Alex sits down, and starts on his banana. He looks so happy with such a simple thing. Evan notices Cam's expression and imagines his is about the same; wistful lost innocence. "You know what? Before I eat, I'd better get out of these duds. Milk and bananas don't mix with dress blues. I'll be back in a minute, Alex. Don't eat my banana," he warns, and Alex gives him a milk-mustache smile.

He's gotten as far as hanging his jacket up and taking off his tie, when Cam looks in. "How'd it go?" he asks.

"It went. Laura ... she was great. She had Coolidge and Barrett shaking in their highly polished shoes. Landry was like a proud papa."

"That's not what I meant."

Evan sighs and sits on the bed to toe off his shoes. "I know. I'm glad it's over."

"I've been through a few of those debriefs. It's never easy."

"Thanks, Cam." 

"Sure."

"No, seriously. Thank you for everything you and John have done for me. I wouldn't be standing here if you hadn't taken me in, made me feel normal again. I never thought I would ... even with the therapy and the doctors ... it was my friends who pulled me through."

"What else are we here for if not to save each other?" Cam tilts his head, listening. "John's home."

"Tell Alex I had to go out for a little while, but I'll be back to say goodnight."

Cam looks curious, but doesn't say anything as he leaves. 

Evan finishes changing into jeans and a dark blue sweater. He bags his uniform, touches the rows of medals and the freshly minted bird Colonel insignia. This is his _life_ that he wears over his heart. He's never realized it before, but this has always been about love. 

Who wouldn't endure the pains of hell for what they love? Who wouldn't die for what they love? 

He closes the bag. He hears Alex's voice piping from the kitchen. He hears John come in from work, and Cam laughing. He writes a quick note and puts it on the door. Laura is waiting at the _Pegasus_ , and his flight for California leaves in the morning.

He slips out the back door and drives to the pub.

^*^*^*^*^*^*^

**Epilogue**

Two weeks later, Evan is back in Colorado for McKay's wedding. He's nearly one hundred percent; pain continues to plague him when he stands for long periods of time and he still tires more easily than before his capture, but he's gained back most of the weight he's lost and the California sun has banished his pallor. As he walks up the aisle with Katie Brown, he feels her hug his arm close, giving him support if he needs it. 

Jennifer is glowing. McKay looks like he can't believe he's finally hit the jackpot. It's a lovely, mercifully short ceremony. Then the bride and groom are kissing and heading down the aisle. Katie is looking teary, but in a happy way, which is a relief because he wasn't sure how she would react to seeing McKay marry somebody else. She seems to be fine with it. 

The receiving line is tiresome. His hip is bothering him, and he's starting to feel jet-lagged and weary. Laura comes up to him, gives him a quick hug, and whispers, "Let's blow this pop stand and go to the bar."

Evan can be unobtrusive when he needs to be, and he drifts away from the line. Laura hands him his cane. "Cam thought you could use this."

"Thanks. I'm usually better than this."

"Mmm."

"I am," he protests. "Don't I look better?"

She appraises him. "You look much better. And that suit is divine on you." 

He snorts. "Yeah, right." 

"I'll tell you what, this round is on me. You grab us a table and save places for John, Cam and Sam."

"Sam?"

"We're not on duty," she reminds him. "We're just friends celebrating a happy wedding."

He sits down, grateful for her offer. He isn't under any illusions about her motives in buying the first round. She returns with a bouquet of champagne flutes and a bottle. "They're toasting first." 

Cam and John make their way through the crowd, followed by Sam and Vala. The glasses are distributed, champagne poured and the first toast raised to the newlyweds. Then Laura clears her throat. "I would like to propose a different toast. To Evan. To his recovery and his return home. May the stars shine brightly on you and may your travels be safe and swift."

"Hear," Cam says, and with Evan blushing brightly, they all clink glasses. Ronon and Teyla join them at the table. "To what are we drinking?" Teyla asks.

John rises and slides his arm around her waist. "To Evan." Ronon picks up a glass that looks like it will shatter at his touch, but his smile is gentle as he joins in the toast. 

Evan can hardly force his thanks past the knot in his throat. He looks around at his friends, his saviors, his family. There isn't anything he can say to thank them. There are no words. He stands up and holds out his hand to Laura. "I think I owe you a dance, Captain."

"It would be an honor, sir." Laura places her hand in his. 

The music rises and it takes a moment for the name of the tune to register, but when it does, he nearly stumbles before Laura steadies him. _Lean on me, when you're not strong. I'll be your friend, I'll help you carry on ..._

It's perfect. 

The only moment that is more perfect takes place two weeks later as he stands on the ramp in the gate room and hears the dial-up sequence for Atlantis. The gate rushes open and subsides into the shimmering blue horizon. Evan turns around. He raises his arm to Cam, John, and Laura. Then he shoulders his pack and steps through the gate. Atlantis is waiting for him, welcoming him. He's home. 

**The End**


End file.
